


Wizard in the Tower

by AuNomDuRoi (DerKnochenbrecher)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Familiars, Fantasy, Gen, Humour, Magic, Middle Grade, NaNoWriMo, Nanovel, Novel, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Parody, Victorian England
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-03 07:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11527248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerKnochenbrecher/pseuds/AuNomDuRoi
Summary: All Handler wanted was a relaxing week at home, reading by the fire and drinking copious amounts of tea while trying to ignore the drafts and leaking roof. So when three children come knocking at his door, looking for a wizard to help rescue their sister from a mysterious fae, his immediate reaction is to kick them back to the curb. But he doesn't, and to his great misfortune he soon finds himself riding across England on a quest and getting side-tracked from it every five minutes or so. With only the company of his highly opinionated familiar to keep him sane, his quest for a peaceful existence might have to be put on hold...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a middle-grade fantasy novel I worked on between 2010 and 2017. I finally decided to drop the project this year due to lack of interest, but I didn't want to sacrifice the many, many drafts (at least five NaNoWriMo's worth) and work I put into it. This draft is, I think, pretty good, but still needed work - work that I wasn't able to pull together for it in this, or any, form. So I'm going to post it, slowly, here on AO3, since I have no better ideas.
> 
> I still really enjoy the magic system and quite a bit of the world building and while I don't think I'll come back to it, there's always possibility. In that case, I'll delete this copy, but for now, it stands.

It was on a glorious autumn afternoon that Handler landed himself and his familiar in a puddle of mud while attempting to teleport them home. Admittedly, it wasn’t his fault. Despite being one of the best wizards in England, even he could be bowled over the by shock-wave of some unknown spell. The blast of strange magic had come from nowhere, reeking of rotting flowers and wreaking havoc on spells and causing wizards everywhere to trip over their own feet. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He stood up with a groan, rubbing his lower back where he’d landed on a rock. The unknown magic was still present, causing a heaviness in the air that sent an odd tingle through his hands that he couldn’t quite shake out. Plus, his clothes all smelled like livestock and now he was covered with mud. And freezing.

A fine continuation, he thought, to what was turning out to be an absolutely brilliant day. He scowled.

Precious, his familiar, got to her feet and shook the excess water from her coat. 

“Well, that was interesting,” she said. Her fur was standing on end from the magical vibrations. 

“Probably just some apprentice fiddling with some spells they oughtn’t to have,” Handler muttered, trying to free his boots from the mud. 

Able to walk again, he stepped out of the puddle and Precious followed. They were at the edge of the small woods that surrounded their house, where the autumn rains had already turned the ground soggy, and noticeably nowhere near the teleportation circle he had intended to appear on. Handler continued to glower at nothing in particular as he dragged his feet to the path. Precious hid it better, but she was just as annoyed. She made some impressive leaps to avoid stepping into any more puddles. The gravel was a welcome reprieve from that.

Their house came into view, framed by the bare tree branches. It was an old, desolate-looking place that wasn’t especially helped by the addition of greenery in the summer. 

It had two levels and an attic and the whitewashed walls that were turning grey and peeling. A support beam in the roof had begun to bend, leaving an indent where sodden leaves collected. The siding had fallen apart in places, revealing the coarse woodwork beneath. Since he had no need of them, most of the back windows had been boarded up so heat wouldn’t escape. He had sealed the area around the third large chimney he had added with spells and yet more had been cast to keep the foundation from buckling. It was a most ignoble dwelling for a wizard as powerful as him, he had to admit, but he argued it wasn’t his entirely fault. The spells he would need to fix everything required intense research, and it wasn’t like he could do it all by hand alone. Besides, the best time for repairs was in summer, and his summers had been very busy recently. He would get to it at some point. This summer, for sure.

He had been saying something similar since he had inherited the building ten years prior.

He opened the gate, catching sight of his garden and frowning. Though mostly wilted from the season, it was his pride and joy, a riot of rose bushes he carefully maintained by hand with only the occasional spell to help them grow. His magic tended to not like living things –his speciality was fire, after all – but a spell every once in a while didn’t hurt. The gardens and the upstairs library, a decent-sized collection of books both magical and mundane, were the only thing of value about the place.

He brushed his fingers across one of the last remaining green leaves where it overhung the path as he walked to the door, the protective spells falling down at his approach. More than anything, he was interested in getting them both inside and taking a nice warm bath, having a nice warm supper, and then returning to his books and his bed. 

Handler opened the door and they were flooded by the familiar smells of cinders, dried herbs, and the somewhat wooden scent of magic. Precious bounded in ahead of him, eager to be out of the cold and wet, and the spells that kept the house in order kindled to life at their presence. Fire appeared in the hearth and stove, pots and pans started up a meal, and the kettle on the stove began heating itself to a boil for Handler’s tea. With a wave of his hand, the mud on Handler’s boots and clothes dried and fell off, and Precious waited patiently on the mat for him to do the same to her. She no more tolerated muddy prints in the house than Handler did.

Her fur dried, she bounded off to her favourite spot by the large fireplace in the sitting room. A broom came by, sweeping the dirt off the floor and out the front door. Handler stepped out of its way and managed to dump his bag and his cloak on one of the armchairs before he sank into the comfiest one near the fire. He glared at the cloak a moment, wishing he could simply toss the thing and replace it with a good selection of modern coats, or at least something that was actually in style. But he was a wizard, and thus he had both a reputation and an image to maintain, and unfortunately for him the cloak was part of it. 

He turned his gaze to Precious, watching her flank rise and fall for a few moments before he realised that something was missing. He scowled and gave a hard rap to the wall, which probably hurt him more than it, but it did what it was meant to. The pipes groaned as the house took note of his wants, too loudly for Handler’s liking, and began to heat the water for his bath. The spells that kept the house alive were beginning to wear off and the blast of foreign magic earlier had done nothing to help. The spells would need to be renewed, sooner rather than later if Handler didn’t want to start doing things himself. And since Handler was, in addition to being a great wizard, generally quite lazy when it came to things other than books and his garden, he figured he should probably make himself fix it soon.

But it could all wait, he thought as he heard the kettle whistling. Forcing himself up, he wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a large mug of tea. He cast his eyes over the other utensils to ensure they were making food properly, and sauntered back to the chair. He glanced out the window as he drank, the curling steam against his face bringing with it the scent of tea leaves and bergamot.

Magical mishaps aside, it was a very nice day. The skies were for once not completely obscured by clouds and the sunlight that filtered in was gold. Even though there was a slight chill in the air, Handler had barely noticed it after the misty cold of his morning spent in Scotland, aiding some young upstart with a quest that required a wizard’s aid. The fire kept the worst of the cold out, even where the walls failed. 

A very nice day, now that he was no longer trying to fix other people’s problems.

Finishing his tea, he decided that he would take his bath now, while the kitchen prepared his meal. He was sure he had mud even between his toes at this point. He looked over at his familiar, who had stretched herself out on her pillow. It seemed like such a shame to disturb her, but he would have to. He set his mug on the edge of the hearth for a spell to tidy, he reached out and picked her up, pulling her into his chest as he stood. She tried to protest and wriggle to get out of his grip, but gave up without a real fight.

“Please don’t get any more water on me,” she said as she went limp in his arms.

“I make no promises,” he replied with a slight smile. He was tempted to throw her into the tub as it was, though he knew doing so would be more trouble than it was worth. Still, he was tempted all the same.

The tub in the bathroom was half-full when he glanced in, and was acceptably so by the time he returned with fresh clothes from his own room and a clean towel from the linen closet. He dumped all of this away from the bathtub where it wouldn’t get wet and Precious promptly curled on top of the towel, finding it appropriately warm. Handler muttered about her getting hair on everything and she flicked her ears, ignoring him. 

He stripped off his shirt and cast aside to create another pile. The steam was growing in the room, fogging up the windows, and generally being very warm. He wondered if he shouldn’t cool it down a bit.

Before he could do anything more to sink into his well-deserved rest, the doorbell rang.

Handler swore. His voice echoed off the tiles as the peels of the bell resounded through the house. It was the kind of bell that belonged more in a steeple than where people actually lived to be disturbed by it. Whoever it was, they no doubt had some deadly important purpose in coming to him.

And yet, he was still so close to a nice relaxing evening. It would be a shame to waste this water, after all. Perhaps if he didn’t answer, whoever it was would take his silence as a sign that he wasn’t home and would go away, regardless of the chimney smoke.

Then bell rang three times in quick succession and Handler knew that plan wasn’t going to work.

Scowling and holding one ear to his shoulder to block out the sound, the wizard pulled his shirt back on. He wasn’t the best dressed for meeting guests, but they were interrupting him on his own time. They’d have to live with it. Precious hissed at the roof as she followed him down the hall, sounding like she wanted to tear that bell apart as much as Handler did. He swooped her up, putting her on his shoulder just in case. She butted her head against his, paws digging into his muscles, telling him to hurry.

Handler got to the door and wrenched it open before they could ring the bell again.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The young boy who had rung the bell jumped back, letting the cord swing erratically, and hid behind his sister. A second, younger boy, was already hiding behind her skirts.

Precious pulled back and Handler bit back a groan. He didn’t like children on a good day, and the eldest of these three – the girl – couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. And worse yet, all three were incredibly dirty, with mud-soaked hems and lank hair and faces smudged with some unknown substance.

Heedless of how rude it was – at least in Handler’s mind – to appear on a wizard’s doorstep in such a state, the girl matched his gaze with a steely one of her own. 

“Are you a wizard?” the girl asked. She sounded as though she was caught between begging for his help and demanding it.

“That depends on whom you might be,” he replied.

The smaller boy, who looked about six and had the same blue-green eyes and brown hair as his sister, peaked around her to stare up at Precious.

“She’s got red eyes!” he exclaimed. 

“Shh, Roland!” the girl said, pushing him back. She looked up at Handler wide-eyed, like she was worried the boy had somehow offended him. She tried again. “Please, sir. My name is Claire. These are my little brothers, Roland and Edmund. We desperately need a wizard’s help. You see, our sister-“

“You gotta save our sister!” Edmund, the other boy, broke in. “She was taken by an evil wizard and you have to rescue her!”

Handler blinked.

“It’s true,” Claire said, talking fast. “I saw it happen – I don’t know who it was or why they too her, but you have to believe me, she – she was just taken. Right from inside our home, earlier this afternoon. We went to all the local magicians, but none of them would help us! So… please…”

Precious’ ear twitched against his cheek. It was, after all, their duty to listen to the requests they were brought, and either do their utmost to fulfil them, or send the requester off to someone who could. And judging by what the girl had already said, the only reason they had come out this far from the city was because they had already been sent off – numerous times.

Against his better judgement, Handler took a step back from the door. Precious curled her tail graciously as he held out an arm.

“Why don’t you come in?” he said. “It will be more comfortable for you to explain inside. I cannot promise I will be able do whatever it is you want, but I’ll hear you out.”

Claire’s eyes brightened. Before she could take a step in both her brothers rushed forward, into the house. Handler leapt aside, narrowly avoiding a crash as they raced for the chairs in from of the fireplace.

“And do try not to get mud on the floor,” Handler muttered.

The boys didn’t seem to hear him at all. They were too busy exclaiming over the largeness of the fireplace, apparently not noticing the broken fixtures and mantel place empty but for dust, and the comfort of the large chairs with their exhausted cushions. Handler was pretty sure he had meant to chop one of them up into firewood for the winter.

Claire followed her brothers more gingerly, and took off her thin, mud-covered shoes before entering the sitting room. So at least one person was listening to Handler. That made him feel a bit better.

Figuring he should prove himself a proper host, Handler wordlessly cast a spell. Several moments later, a tray carrying a plate of sandwiches and a pot of steaming tea floating in. The look of astonishment on all three of the children’s faces was worth the risk to his porcelain, he figured. He didn’t know which of the many London magicians they had seen before visiting him, but he might as well show them what a real wizard’s hospitality looked like.

He took a seat in the most imperial looking of the chairs, which the children had avoided under the assumption that it belonged to the wizard of the house alone. Precious rearranged herself to sit, sphinx-like, on his shoulder. He looked over the children with a lordly gaze, trying to disguise the fact that Precious’ paw was digging painfully into his collarbone.

“So. You said your sister was kidnapped. Elaborate.”

The boys were busy filling their mouths with sandwiches. Claire had taken one of the cups of tea and was balancing it on her lap, mindlessly toying with the greying cuff of one of her sleeves.

“We live not too far away from here,” she said, having finally decided on where to begin. “In one of the new housing districts they’ve built. We were living there with our parents from just before Roland was born. Now it’s just us and our big sister, Tessa. A few hours… Me’n her were sitting in our room, just the two of us, mending clothes. Then suddenly there was this strange sound and a big hole opened up in the wall, bleeding black. It didn’t even smell like proper magic – it was the strangest thing I’ve ever smelled. Tessa told me to run, but I couldn’t get very far. These big dogs came out of the black and grabbed her. She tried to fight with her magic, but she never had much. Then these two long, pale arms appeared and grabbed her.”

A shiver ran through her thin frame, and Edmund put his hand on hers to comfort her. 

“Those arms were so strange,” she went on. “They were real pale and thin, but I think they were a man’s hands. You could see the veins in his wrist. They were dark, maybe dark green, it was hard to see. He grabbed her, and pulled her into the black portal. She couldn’t even scream it happened so fast.” Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Mister Wizard, I think our sister was kidnapped by a fae.”

Handler didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking it over as the silence stretched on. Claire’s words sounded a bit forced, like she’d rehearsed them, but then again he wasn’t the first wizard he’d explained this too, and she’d had plenty of time to go over each aspect of her case before now. So it wasn’t like she was completely lying.

He looked over the three children, their poor clothing and worn and dirty hands. Claire was clutching at both of her brothers, like she was worried they would be taken as well. They certainly looked like a set of orphans who had just lost their eldest sister. But to accuse the fae of such a crime…

Most countries, Britain included, had come to some sort of truce with the various equivalent countries of the Faery Realm, the name given to alternate world that existed connected to their own, over the course of the past thousand years. Overall it was an amicable agreement, especially between Britain and Arum Empire, the faery country they lived with. The truce with the empire had been declared three hundred years prior, and the Empire was not likely to break such a secure – and profitable – alliance, especially for what seemed like a single girl. Which left Handler to wonder: if this was not the actions of the Empire itself, it may have been those of an individual. If so, it would be easy to ignore it. Truce or no, there were always the occasional acts of mischief from both sides, and the life of a single orphaned girl, or even those of her siblings, would mean little to the Wizard’s Council or the emissaries of Arum. Most magicians would have nothing to do with it. And this, of course, was why these child had come so far to this broken down house on the edge of the city – because if the fae were involved, then they were well and truly out of options. 

Precious flicked her ear against his cheek, and Handler sighed. At least he would be back in time to finish his report for the Council. If nothing else, he might be able to fashion a functional report from this little adventure.

“I accept your request,” he said. “I’ll help you rescue your sister.”

There were screams of delight and Precious leapt away, hissing, as Handler found himself weighed down with three extra bodies. Six arms wrapped around him in an awkward hug as all three children tried to hug him at the same time, despite that he was still sitting in the chair. Breathing deeply so as to set nothing on fire, Handler glared over their heads at the tray. How he wished he was it right now, being completely ignored by the children, well away from their grubby and surprisingly strong hands.

“Please stop,” he choked out.

Claire removed herself instantly, looking sheepish, and pried Edmund off. Roland remained clinging to the wizard, who gave another weary sigh and peeled him off. This was going to be a long week.

He smoothed down his shirt and waistcoat before continuing. Precious, believing she would not be in harm’s way, slunk out from beneath his chair and leapt up onto the arm. 

“If I am to accept your quest,” he said, “I might as well have you stay the night here. It’s too late to start out now, so we might as well rest and begin as early as we can in the morning.” He would also need some time to pack, but he would rather they believe he was constantly prepared for anything. It made him seem more wizardly.

Claire scowled. “Why? I thought you said you were going to help us! If we leave tomorrow, it might be too late!”

Precious flicked her tail, warning Handler not to get too annoyed. 

“The fae are not known for their speedy decisions,” he said. “I believe your sister will be all right for a while yet. In addition, the Faery Gate is in Wales – it will take us a while to reach it no matter what we do. It will be best if we are well-rested before we leave, and you three are in dire need of food, a bath, and new clothes, because I refuse to be seen with such shabby children.”

He broke off, only then noticing that the children were staring at him, dumbfounded.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re… just going to give us food?” Claire asked. “More than what you already have?”

“And clothes?” Edmund added. “New ones?”

“Well, I wouldn’t term them “new,” precisely,” Handler said. “They were left here by my master, in hopes I would someday take in an apprentice. As I have so far managed to avoid doing so, they are free for your use.”

“And a bath?” Roland asked, blinking. “What’s a bath?” He smiled widely at the prospect anyway, showing gaps in his teeth. 

Handler didn’t quite know what to say to that. He clicked his finger, activating a number of spells, and the tub in the bathroom began to fill with hot water. The rest of the house was filled with the sound of creaking pipes. 

“It wouldn’t do for you to die on me,” he said. “And as I said, it’s much more important that I am not surrounded by dirty children than that I keep these clothes. Do you know what it would do to my reputation, otherwise?”

He picked Precious up to keep her out of the children’s reach as he got up, intending to find the clothes. He knew they were in one of his back rooms, but the question, as always, was which.

He didn’t get very far. The children, apparently unable to contain their joy, threw themselves at him once again and covered him in hugs. Apparently they hadn’t gotten the message the first time.

“Thank you, Mister Wizard!” Claire cried. Her brothers joined in with their own thanks. Their voices almost made Handler’s head hurt. He held Precious closer to his chest, which annoyed her enough for the both of them.

“Handler,” he replied. “My name is Handler, and would you please remove yourselves already?”

When none of them listened, he gave up and looked down at Precious.

“Why this?” he asked.

She squirmed, rearranging herself in his arms. She would smile if she could.

“We’ll just have to bear it,” she said. He could have sworn she was laughing at him.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Handler woke with a dull pain in his lower back and a distinct sense of not having slept at all. Precious was a weight on his chest. It took him a foggy moment to remember why he was in such a state, and when he did he groaned, pulling himself to his bed. Precious scampered away from her rude awakening as he got to his feet.

There were still children in his house, left the previous night to sleep in an otherwise disused room, and he was not to be rid of them for some time to come. He had spent the evening cleaning them, feeding them, making sure they didn’t accidentally harm themselves on some spell or potion he had lying about – and there was only more of it to come. He stared at the crack of blue sky visible between his bedroom shutters, a vague sense of annoyance already growing like a headache.

“There’s no need to look so grumpy,” Precious said. She was clearly taking none of her own advice. “We’re going on an adventure, after all.” She yawned as she stretched, then shook out her fur. When she pulled herself onto her haunches, she looked plenty awake. She started grooming her paws.

Handler ran a hand through his hair and began digging in his wardrobe for appropriate clothing. A pair of dark pants, a good-looking but older shirt he didn’t mind getting dirty, and his third-best waistcoat – foregoing a tie would make the outfit incomplete, but would be more practical. Another pile of similar clothes were sitting on top of a chest. He shoved these into the enchanted bag he had left next to the chest. He had meant to pack the previous night, but once finished with the children he had collapsed onto his bed before he could even think of it. 

That done, he readjusted the shutters, reawakening the spells to keep them closed and the elements out. He paused a moment to take in the view, Precious leaping onto the windowsill to do the same. The autumn sky was unusually clear and beautiful, making the leaves shine all the colours they had turned. The birds were quiet, with only the softest whistles to be heard. He would have enjoyed it if he hadn’t had the sneaking suspicion that things were going to go dreadfully wrong dreadfully soon.

There was a distant banging sound and Handler flinched, even though it wasn’t that loud. Precious leapt off the sill, going over to the door and sticking her head out to investigate.

“There doesn’t seem to be any trouble,” she told Handler over her should. “In fact, it smells rather like the children have started to make breakfast. How kind of them.”

“Indeed,” Handler said, pulling down his favourite cloak from its hook. It would probably have been better to wear a coat, but he also got the feeling that the more wizardly he looked on this quest, the better. Still, it wasn’t that bad. The cloak was a lovely blue, with red and brown embroidery along the trim. It kept the rain off and the wind out quite well. It was a good cloak.

He folded and draped it over one arm, and picked up the enchanted pack with the other. A thought struck him.

“Wait,” he said, frowning. “The children are making breakfast? In my kitchen?”

“I couldn’t imagine who else’s kitchen it might be,” Precious replied. 

He dropped the bag and the cloak and dashed out the door. Precious leapt out after him. 

“Perhaps you should clearly label the poisons you keep in your kitchen,” she said. “Instead of panicking whenever someone takes a step into your kitchen.”

Handler ignored her, taking the stairs two at a time. He heard further clanking of pots and the children chattering. He slid through the kitchen door, Precious padding delicately behind him, and looked about. He was only mildly dismayed at the sight that greeted him.

Claire was at the stove, a frying pan in one hand and a spoon in the other. She looked up as Handler entered the room, then quickly turned back to frying what appeared to be some sort of egg-based concoction. The two boys were already seated at Handler’s kitchen table, the contents of which had been shoved to one side in a mess of papers, books and empty potion bottles to make room for the plates filled with sausages, bacon, cheese, and apples that had been placed in front of them. It seemed that they had pilfered most of the contents of Handler’s refrigeratory without asking. Handler reminded himself that he could hardly begrudge them that – this was probably the first time they had ever had this much to eat for breakfast, and it was from someone else’s kitchen. He just wished it didn’t need to be his.

Claire carried the frying pan over to the table, smiling at Handler when she saw him. Handler didn’t know how to react and waited for her to make the next move.

“Good morning!” she said. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought that breakfast would be a good idea, since we’ll be leaving so soon and needing all our strength to find Big Sis.”

“And Big Sis always says to eat before going on an adventure!” Roland piped up. He then shoved half a sausage into his mouth. 

Handler muttered something that might have been an agreement, glaring at the kettle. It hastened to obey, filling itself with water before floating to the stove and settling itself without a sound. There were some things he didn’t like using magic for, chief among them tending his garden, but he had plenty in place for the numerous daily affairs he didn’t feel like doing manually, such as heating water. After all, why bother studying for years and undergoing all the trials and tribulations to become a wizard, if not to use magic in making life easier? Even Precious agreed with him on that one.

He turned slight and found Edmund watching him with wide eyes. The boy didn’t need to look to make his hand move food into his mouth.

“What do you want?” Handler asked, raising an eyebrow.

Edmund swallowed his food, pounding his chest as he started choking.

“Nothing,” the boy said. He coughed again, turning back to the meal. 

Handler fought the urge to roll his eyes. Kids these days, so easily impressed by the simplest of spells. Edmund kept glancing at him when he thought the wizard wasn’t looking. He seemed unable to sit still, trying to see all the spells as they unfurled around the kitchen. 

“Mister Wizard’s magic’s a lot prettier than Big Sis’s!” Roland added cheerfully.

Handler frowned. “Your eldest sister has magic?” 

It may have been nothing – there were thousands of people in Britain with magic. The nation had more magicians in its population that most, after all, in addition to the unusual number of highly talented people such as Handler. And the girl had been captured by a fae, a member of a race known for their love of magic in all forms. It wasn’t unheard of for fae to kidnap magical human infants and raise them as their own, leaving changelings in the cribs. Handler supposed it wasn’t inconceivable a fae might take an older girl who had caught their fancy. It could have been the reason she was taken, or at least one of them.

Roland nodded. “Her magic’s really great! She keeps the mice and the rats out of the house and the rest of the building so that there ain’t any creatures in our beds or getting at our food. And sometimes she makes us feel better if we get cuts and stuff. She doesn’t do nothing real pretty, but she’s really great!”

“Her magic was never pretty like yours,” Edmund said. “Why is that, Mister Wizard?”

“She’s a hedgewitch,” Claire said matter-of-factly. She set a plate of eggs down on the counter next to Handler, who found himself quite happy someone was answering for him. “She’s got some magic but not much. Ma had it as well and was hoping that we’d all get some, but Sis was the only one who did.” She stopped, and frowned. “Do you think it means something, Mister Handler?” 

Handler glanced at Precious. She was watching all of this cautiously, and tilted her head forward. Like him, she’d need more time to think it over. He shrugged, poking the eggs with the fork before turning back to the kettle. It was beginning to whistle. 

“It could be,” he said, reaching for the teapot. Tea was more important than trying to explain the finer details of fae-human relations to small children. He was sure even Precious would agree with him on this point.

He dropped several teaspoons’ worth of his strongest black tea leaves into the pot, then did his best not to tap his foot impatiently as it steeped. When it was ready, he poured himself cup and gulped the scalding liquid down with a ferocity that, if their expressions were anything to go by, managed to terrify the children. Precious wound herself around his ankles, cautious.

After a few more minutes of the three eating and Handler drinking, he finally mustered up the desire to move again. He picked up the fork and dared the eggs Claire had given him, only to find that they weren’t nearly as bad as he had expected. If anything, they were almost good. He ate delicately, like a good role model, and finished the plate of eggs and two slices of toast before finishing it off with yet another cup of tea.

“When all of you are done,” he said, putting the mug on counter. “We will leave. You will be coming with me, of course, as I cannot leave you here unattended and there is no one to take care of you. I mean, there are quite a few people I would love to hand you over to without explanation, but that is neither here nor there. So, against my better judgement, I must bring you along to rescue your sister. From the Arum Empire. In the Faery Realm.” He sighed.

Claire nodded, picking up dishes. “That was the plan the whole time,” she said. “We weren’t about to let you go without us.” 

The two boys nodded at Handler, just as imperious as their sister.

“… As you will,” the wizard said. “Now, as I was saying, because I have to take the three of you along, I can’t use spells to transport us. I also own no horses, since I usually use magic to teleport and horses are among the most evil of nature’s creations. In addition, I do not have the money to afford us all train tickets. Therefore, I must conclude that we will be walking to the nearest Faery Gate. Which is, of course, in Wales.”

He held up a hand to staunch their sudden cries. 

“Also,” he continued. “If I hear a word of complaint, I shall leave the complainer hanging in the nearest well. Are we clear on this?”

Slowly, the children nodded, eyes wide.

Then Roland smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, Mister Wizard! We’re really good walkers – Big Sis always said so!”

Leaving aside the fairness of an assessment from such a source, Handler was fairly sure that the boy didn’t have a clue as how far it actually was going to be, or where Wales even was. But he supposed they would learn. He was just annoyed that it was going to be him who would have to teach them.

He glanced down at Precious, who flicked her tail. Complaining about other people’s complaining, despite being one of his talents, wasn’t going to help them retrieve this girl. He filled his mug with whatever remained in the pot, drained it, and stood up.

“If you could get the cleaning done,” he said to Claire. “That would be grand. I am going to finish our travelling bags and pack what food I can carry. Be prepared to leave in an hour or so.”

Claire nodded, picking up her pile of dishes and carrying them to the sink. There were a considerable amount of dishes that had to be done – Handler was almost a little alarmed at the number of them himself. The actually cleaning would be helped by the scrub-brushes and rags around the sink, all of which were enchanted. The only real work was supervising the things. 

Precious followed Handler as left the dining area, tail held high.

“I’m rather quite impressed with the way you dealt with them this morning,” she said as they went to fetch the bag. “Not one death threat.”

“I did threaten to hang them in a well, if you recall,” he replied.

“Which is not necessarily fatal,” she replied. She twitched her tail. “You’re learning.”

Handler sighed heavily. Sometimes his familiar had the strangest notions.

He managed to fit what he hoped would prove to be a couple days’ worth of food into the bag, in addition to the clothes. It all managed to fit, thanks to the spells Handler had commissioned be woven into the fabric, allowing it to carry much more than its size would allow. He’d cast his own spells on it as well, making it impervious to damage and lightening the load somewhat. It had cost him quite a bit for the whole thing, but it was indispensable for quests.

All necessities accounted for, he turned to leave the larder. Precious was sitting on a shelf, barely visible. She looked like she was half asleep.

“Time to go,” he said. “You wanted us to do this as well, remember?”

She yawned, stretching out her back.

“Very well,” she grumbled, the words lost in another yawn.

“You’ll know I’d abandon them on the side of the road if you let me,” he said, smiling.

Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

He decided to abandon the joke – she looked as though she would claw him if he didn’t. He shouldered the pack, and picked Precious up. She took her place on his shoulder, balancing against the pack, and appeared to fall asleep. Part of him wanted to poke her awake out of simple spite that he was forced to be awake, but decided against it. It was better one of them be rested than he have his petty revenge. Handler alone would be enough for the children to contend with – adding a short-tempered Precious to their issues would help no one.

The children must have finished up quicker than he did thanks to the spells, as they were waiting for him by the front door when he emerge with the pack. Roland was practically leaping about the room, already covered in a light dusting of soot and dirt from his explorations. Claire was standing still, but fidgeting, toying with the too-sleeves of the dress Handler had given her. It was in an older style, and with such a design that Handler could only assume had never been in fashion, but it would do. He’d also given her a pair of solid boots that, although intended for a boy, were much better than her worn slippers. Had it not been for those and the speckling of stains on her sleeves, she would have looked ready to go to church. Of the three, only Edmund looked as though he had succeeded in keeping himself clean, and his yellow hair shone almost as bright as his grin. The weather was still unusually good, so he hadn’t insisted their wear coats, though he had packed them. 

“Are you ready to go, Mister Wizard?” Roland asked, hopping over to Handler.

“Yes,” Handler sighed. “You can start walking. I must close the house, but it won’t take long.”

There was only one path to and from the house, so it wasn’t like the children would get lost, and not much of note lived in the small woods, so it wasn’t like they would get eaten. He wasn’t terribly worried about leaving them on their own there for a few moments.

“Are you going to do a protection spell?” Edmund asked. His eyes were too wide for something so mundane, especially given the hour.

Handler paused. “I am.”

If possible, the boy’s eyes became even bigger. “Can I watch you?” 

Handler felt his familiar’s whiskers twitch against his cheek. He was fairly sure she was laughing at him, or at least his situation.

“Do what you want,” he said, shutting the door and locking it with a simple spell. 

Claire took Roland’s hand and led him down the path. Edmund followed them, half stumbling as he did his best to keep his eyes on Handler and walk forward at the same time.

Handler raised his hands, summoning the magic he needed. Precious unsheathed her claws into the thick material of his travelling cloak, securing herself to his shoulder.

There was a series of clicks as every door and window in the building locked itself. He then awoke the two other spells. With the first, magic reached into the house to remind the enchanted items to continue doing their jobs while he was away. If the house sprang a leak, it would be fixed, and no dust or cobwebs would accumulate. It wouldn’t be able to solve the problem if a wall collapsed, which was always a possibility, but it would take care of smaller issues. The second spell woke the wards surrounding the house, encasing it in a protective bubble. It might have been a ramshackle buildings kept up only by its own failing seams, but it was still Handler’s home and he intended to keep it safe. The precautions he took might not have been completely necessary, but Handler tended to be slightly paranoid. One did not become a wizard as powerful as he was without making a few enemies. Enemies that were mostly in other countries and probably didn’t care very much, but enemies all the same.

All the spells and wards around it in place, Handler turned to follow the children down the path. All three were watching with wide eyes. Edmund seemed totally enraptured, his mouth hanging open as he observed the sunlight glinting off the magical dome that was just within the realm of visibility. Claire had stopped with Roland’s hand in hers.

Handler frowned. “What am I, a circus? Go on – start walking! It isn’t my sister whose life is on the line, after all.”

Claire hurried down to the gate, dragging Roland with her, and they passed out of the wards with no harm coming to them. Edmund cast one last look at the house, taking in the sight of the reverberating magic as it settled, and ran after them. 

Handler followed slowly, the warmth of his own magic filling him as he passed through the barrier. Precious’ fur stuck out from the static. She hissed in annoyance and Handler stifled a laugh as he shut the gate, more of a precaution against deer and other such animals than anything. 

He caught up to the children within moments. They talked loudly as they ran this way and that like human-sized bees. Handler said nothing, keeping his gaze forward and hoping his reputation would be able to hold against the blow it would take if anyone saw him like this, ever. 

Precious, deciding that she was quite done with all of this nonsense, braced herself on Handler’s pack and went back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

By that afternoon, Handler was reconsidering the likelihood that he would end up killing the children. Far from likely, it was more approaching a scientific inevitability. 

They had found a farmer with a mostly empty cart leaving London along the road near Handler’s house, heading west. The farmer was happy to give them a ride – at least, he was once Handler explained that no, he was not a bandit and no, he had not kidnapped the children, but that he was a wizard on a quest. And yes, that did mean that the farmer’s purse, newly filled from the goods sold at the market, would be protected. 

Handler had had half a mind to create a pothole in the middle of the road to teach the farmer a lesson in subtlety, but as they rode he quickly realised that the road was made up of nothing but holes. Adding another would probably have done nothing but require them to walk, so he grit his teeth and tried to ignore the bumping of the cart and the bouncing of the children. He ran his fingers through Precious’ fur, keeping them both calm. 

The farmer bid them an all-too-cheerful farewell around mid-afternoon as their paths diverged, leaving Handler and the children to walk the rest of the way. If Handler had thought their cheerful cries while riding in the cart were bad, he was unprepared for their complaints of painful feet and too-long distances that started almost as soon as they began walking.

“We’re never gunna get to Big Sis on time,” Roland said, dragging his feet.

“We will if you stop complaining and walk properly,” Handler snapped.

Roland looked up and him with an expression like he was trying to teach a puppy what expression to make when someone kicked it. Claire grabbed his shoulders, holding him close to her. Since they were both trying to walk at the time, it wasn’t particularly effective. Edmund continued on cheerfully down the road, blissfully unaware of the glares Handler and Claire were currently exchanging.

“He’s just a boy. You don’t have to be so mean to him,” Claire said.

“I was being mean? I didn’t notice. Now you should probably let your brother walk properly, or we really will be too late to save your sister.”

Claire sprang back, then grabbed Roland’s hand and quickened her pace to catch up with Edmund. It wasn’t far, as Edmund seemed to have been distracted by an unusual flower on the side of the road and had stopped walking to observe it. 

Precious flicked her tail against his ear in disapproval. She had managed to avoid walking by taking up her usual position on his shoulders, though her attempts at napping were constantly interrupted by the children.

“Be polite,” she said into Handler’s ear. Her nose was cold.

“I’m doing my best,” he replied, a statement they both knew to be an entirely false. He took the opportunity to check the map he had folded into a pocket. He caught up to the small children in only a few long strides. 

“In case you were wondering,” he said, like he was simply making an observation. “There is a small town with an inn about thirty minutes up ahead. If you hurry, we may even get there before the sun starts to set.”

“Will we get bed and food?” Edmund asked. “Warm food?”

Handler went over the amount of money he could spare. “Yes, I suppose we can manage that. Tomorrow, however, we simply must pick up the pace. It will be of little service to your sister if we’re too slow in rescuing her.”

Roland looked troubled. “If we’re not gunna get to Big Sis on time,” he said. “Do we gotta sleep? We can get there faster if we don’t sleep and we keep walking all night.”

“You wouldn’t make it all night,” Handler told him. “You would collapse on the side of the road if you missed so much as a single meal.” 

That might have been a little unfair – they were just children after all – but the distinct lightness of Handler’s bag from the sudden disappearance of a good amount of the provisions it had contained told another story. 

“And besides,” Claire said, adding a glare in Handler’s direction for good measure, “You’re very tired already, Roland. Wouldn’t it be better to rest and get something to eat before leaving again? You know Big Sis always said not to miss breakfast, and we will if we walk all night.”

Roland nodded, still not entirely convinced.

“There will probably be animals,” Handler supplied, thinking of how much the boy seemed entranced with Precious. 

Immediately Roland perked up. “Animals!” he said, and started skipping cheerfully down the road.

Precious stretched out her back. “That was easy,” she said, her whiskers twitching.

“Apparently children are easier to train than most dogs,” he muttered. He was amazed that had even worked.

“How do you plan to pay for this inn?” she asked. “We didn’t have enough money for train tickets, much less an inn and food every night.”

“I’ll think of something,” he said. He saw a pile of stones by the side of the road and grinned half-heartedly. “Surely being a wizard will come in handy. And if all else fails, we could just make gold.”

She swatted the shell of his ear. “Don’t break the law for something so minor,” she hissed.

“I was joking,” he said. Then, in a voice meant mostly for himself alone, he added, “Even though no one would know.”

“But I would – and isn’t that the worst fate possible? Keep the illegal activities for times when they’re needed.” 

Handler raised an eyebrow. “So it’s alright if I break the law, make gold, and put the entire economy in trouble - if it’s important?” he asked.

Precious paused, then flicked her tail. “Don’t be so impertinent.”

The children’s attention taken elsewhere, Handler allowed himself a small smile at that.  
*  
The town was small, and the inn just as modest. It was situated next to a river, and its white walls reflected the orange of the sunset. There was a small vegetable garden to one side and a stable to the other. The entire area smelled of horses and mules. A couple of cats and an old dog with tired eyes laid about the courtyard. Roland wasted no time in running over and trying to befriend all of them at once. The dog looked up at Handler as he passed and gave a soft whuff, asking for help in removing the small human that had suddenly attached itself to his neck. Handler nodded stiffly at the dog, but could do nothing to help him. If Roland was pestering the animals, that meant that he wasn’t annoying Handler, and as long as no one’s face got savaged he was fine with the situation.

Handler entered the inn with about half of the usual children at his heels and found it a fairly lively place. The inn was located at the crossing of two minor roads and obviously managed enough business to keep itself alive and fairly thriving. A glance told him that no one seemed to be about to start a bar fight or pull swords on everyone, so Handler figured it was a safe enough place. He made his way through the collection of farmers, traders, merchants and others who had come to rest at this inn towards the owner. Handler could tell who that was by the peculiar set of his shoulders, and also the pleased expression on his face as he gazed over the assembled people like a particularly silly rural lord overlooking his lands.

Handler walked up to the owner and said curtly, “Two rooms.”

“You sure?” the owner asked, lifting an eyebrow and seeing only the wizard and his familiar. He did a double take at Precious’ eyes. Apparently he was used to people walking into his inn with small creatures attached like cloak pins, but red eyes were more unusual. Or maybe it was her expression. She tended to look very menacing when there was something standing between her and restful sleep.

“Yes,” Handler said. The man would doubtlessly figure it out for himself, once the children returned to leaping around Handler like a particularly excitable pool of carp.

The owner told him the price and inwardly Handler frowned at the cost. It seemed like robbery in plain daylight to him, but he supposed he didn’t have much choice, having nowhere else to go.

“You really chargin’ people that, Lester?” a man demanded. Judging by his accent, he was a local, and judging by his clothes, he was the sort of farmer who never bothered to clean them. Handler made a note to double-check the sheets for mud stains. 

“’Course I am,” Lester snapped back. “I got to make a living too, you know.”

“Is there something wrong?” Handler asked, raising an eyebrow. Precious looked up, fully awake. Judging by the looks on the men’s faces, there was more going on here than he had first thought.

That’s how it usually went with wizards, Handler had found.

“There ain’t,” Lester snapped. 

“You ain’t heard?” the other farmer said at the same time.

Handler raised an eyebrow at the farmer. “Should I have?”

The farmer grinned, revealing missing teeth. “There’s a beastie that’s taken a fancy to this area, it seems. Big one, the sort what likes flying in to spook the horses, then nipping off food and metal bits from the backs of carts and anywhere else it can find ‘em.”

Precious’ ears pricked forward and Handler frowned.

“It ain’t true at all,” Lester protested. “You’re just angry that you lost half a lamb.”

“You don’t just lose half a lamb!” the farmer shot back. “And don’t listen to Lester, he’s lyin’. He’s afraid that if it gets too common of knowledge, people ain’t gunna come here no more.”

“Did you see what sort of creature it was?” Handler asked. 

The farmer shrugged. “It was big and feathery, I can tell you that,” he said. “Wings – like a big bird, but the size of a donkey and a scream what could shatter steel in winter.”

“I see.” The description was quite vague, and even though it was obviously some sort of magical creature, its apparent love of metal was odd. Most magical creatures didn’t like metals that had undergone any sort of processing. 

“No, you don’t see,” Lester snapped. “Because it don’t exist, and that’s the end of it.”

Handler turned to the red-faced owner before it actually could turn into a bar fight – fairly quick, given that he had only been there five minutes, though even then it would have been only the second earliest he had ever been in. 

“If there’s a creature bothering you, I could get rid of it,” he offered.

Lester’s eyebrows shot up beneath his ill-cut bangs. 

“Could you?” he said. Then, immediately suspicious, he added, “For what price?”

“Of course I can get rid of it,” the wizard replied. “It’s just a country pest and, after all, I am a great wizard.” Precious twitched her tail against the back of his neck. She wanted to roll her eyes, though she knew better than to give anything away. “And as for pay…” He shrugged. “I was thinking, perhaps a horse and some provisions for a couple of days?”

Lester opened his mouth to protest and the farmer punched him in the arm.

“It’s a fine deal,” the farmer said. “You can give ‘em that gelding you’re always complaining about having to take care of. And besides, it will help us all in the long run. You’ll probably make back twice the amount within a week when people will actually stay here, ‘stead of all your rooms being taken up by we villagers.”

By now, everyone else in the common area of the inn had turned to watch them. They had started whispering to each other now as they realised there was wizard was in their midst – one who promised to solve their problems.

“Do it!” someone shouted, and then other voices joined in and Lester seemed to shrink under the pressure. Despite his attempts at arguing, he caved fairly quickly.

“All right!” he snapped. Then, still a bit red in the face, he turned to Handler. “You get rid of the creature, and I’ll give you provisions for the week and one of my geldings. If you manage to retrieve some of the stolen property, I’ll throw in your room and board for tonight. Mind, though – that means you do it all right now, this evening.”

Roland tugged at Handler’s sleeve, looking up with wide eyes. “Does this mean we get to ride a horse to save Big Sis?” he asked.

Handler smiled thinly as he turned back to the inn owner. “I accept your offer. Now, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you took this bag for me. And do be careful – it’s enchanted.”

Roland cheered, and it was almost immediately drowned out by the ruckus of voices the other travellers created. Apparently the problem – whatever it was – was bigger than Lester had let on. The man looked terrified as he took Handler’s bag and shoved it off to a young hand. An older woman grabbed Handler’s arm and pulled him out the door, then he was dragged and pushed along the river bank for several feet by an over-eager man who didn’t even seem to balk at Precious’ hiss.

“Well, this has turned into a spectacular engagement,” Precious said. She gave another hiss as someone’s hand came too close to her tail. “I am all for you helping those you can, but this has become ridiculous. Please end it.”

“I thought so,” Handler muttered. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take too long.”

Her silence indicated how likely that was.

The crowd came to a bend in the river on which the inn had been built and the town passed out of sight. Small foothills covered in trees continued on wards west and north, getting thicker as the road wandered away from the village. Handler could see one tree standing well above the rest, still covered in browning leaves. Sundown was approaching and the hills were bathed in blue shadows. Everything was quiet except for the whistling of the wind, the normal chirp of birds, and the constant nattering of the collection of village idiots around him. But other than that, perfectly quiet.

“So where exactly does this creature hunt?” Handler asked. He had mean to ask Lester, only to find that the man seemed to have disappeared in the crowd of rough faces. 

One of the other men replied, “Along this road. But it comes and goes, and sometimes it’ll attack other places. This is just the one that it seems to like the most.”

“Right,” Handler said. He would be most displeased if he had to find the creature himself, though it probably wouldn’t take him all that long.

The children had wormed their way towards him, Roland clinging to his sister’s sleeve as he dragged her forward. They all wore very determined expressions. He raised an eyebrow at them.

“We’re coming with you,” Edmund declared, crossing his arms. He glared up at Handler, thrusting out his chin. “An’ you can’t tell us that we can’t, cause we’re gunna do it.”

Handler sighed. “Do you really want to walk into danger like this?” he asked. “We don’t even know what the creature is.”

“Dun’t matter,” Roland said. “We wanna help, and we wanna help you get the pretty horse! Because you said you would.”

Handler raised an eyebrow at Claire. She raised her chin a fraction.

“I’m going to come to make sure no one gets in trouble,” she said. “Including you, Mister Handler.”

He paused, thinking it over for a moment, and shrugged. “Do whatever you want.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, cloak swirling behind him, and left the villagers behind as he set down the dirt road to search for clues about their mystery animal.

“Are you sure about that?” Precious asked quietly. “You said yourself – we don’t even know what sort of creature it is. You could be walking them into – oh, I don’t know, a troll nest, or a lindworm’s trap.”

“Neither trolls nor lindworms can fly,” he reminded her. “Also, we’re walking them straight into the Faery Realm – I think they can handle this. It’ll be good practice for what lies ahead.”

Roland and Edmund rushed past him, screaming in delight and calling out for the creature to come and play with them.

“Are you sure?” Precious asked pointedly. Handler groaned.

The children momentarily disappeared into the woods and Handler called them back to the path and him and their sister before they could go too far. They returned sulkily. Claire took hold of her brothers’ hands, smiling brightly as she kept them close.

“You’re going to scare off the creature with all of your screaming,” she said. 

“All right…” Edmund said. He turned, swivelling around so his head was tilted heavily to one side as he looked up to Handler. “Mister Wizard, how can we help you find the beastie?”

“Well, you look for tracks or something,” he muttered.

“But it can fly,” Roland said. “The mister said it can fly.”

“That it can, apparently,” Handler replied, scanning the road for anything that might be helpful.

“So why are we looking for tracks?”

“Because until the creature comes out on its own it’s the only thing that we can do,” he replied.

“Ain’t you got a spell for this?” Edmund asked. “To find things, like?”

“Not one that would be helpful,” he replied. There were such spells, but none of the ones he knew could help him find an unknown target. “Now, stop questioning me.”

“Perhaps…” Precious began.

“Oh, not you too,” Handler muttered. She swatted at his ear.

“I was going to say – perhaps we may find more luck by searching over near that tree that stands inexplicably larger than anything else in the forest?” She pointed with a paw. “It is rather suspicious, don’t you find?”

He thought this over, peering through the woods near them once more. He saw nothing that convinced him Precious was wrong.

“We might as well try for it,” he said and started towards the overly large tree in a straight line. Sticks broke and leaves crackled beneath his boots as he walked. The children scampered in after him, trying to not stick their feet in any roots or rabbit holes.

They walked for a while, until Handler began to worry they were lost. Precious leapt down from his shoulder to chase after the mice and other small ground creatures that happened to get in her way. The children apparently found plenty of interesting things to look at and comment on, none of which were remotely what they were searching for. 

Handler, for his part, managed to prove his superior usefulness by nearly tripping over a metal bar half buried among the fallen leaves. He cursed and caught himself before he actually could fall and thereby ruin his carefully manicured reputation.

“You are ridiculous,” Precious said with a twitch of her ear.

“Shush,” he said, brushing out his cloak. He turned to inspect the metal bar, picking it out of the mast of the forest floor. It was made of iron and didn’t seem to be very old – so, most likely, it had been dropped by their mystery creature. Although why iron, Handler still hadn’t a clue.

“What is that?” Claire asked, peering at it.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Handler replied. He hefted it in his hand and, finding absolutely nothing interesting about it at all, tossed it aside. Glancing through the trees, he could see a glimpse of the tree that was their destination and scraps of sky where nothing seemed to be flying.

“Shall we continue on?” Handler asked. Precious leapt forward, blending in with the growing shadows on the forest floor. Edmund and Claire followed after her.

A squirrel ran across their path, its tail fluffed out. Roland ran forward to try and catch it before Precious did, stumbling into a clearing ahead of her. Then, to Handler’s great surprise, there came a shriek no normal animal could produce, and a shape flung itself from the sky towards the boy.

Handler leapt forward, fire in his hand, not even thinking as he aimed the flame at the creature’s broad wings. The creature screeched, its large eagle eyes turning towards him, its sharp beak ready to slash. Roland stood in front of it, stiff with shock and fear. Handler threw more fire at the creature, aiming for those saucer-sized eyes. 

The creature slammed its wings in a down-stroke, the sudden gust extinguishing the fire and sending sticks and leaf dust into the air. Handler raised an arm to block it from his face and all he caught was a glimpse of the creature grabbing Roland in its talons.

“Roland!” Claire screamed as, with another cry, the creature took off carrying the boy.


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment Handler was frozen in place, mind whirling as he tried to figure out what had happened. Claire clung to Edmund, eyes filling with tears. The boy was sobbing already. Precious raced back to her master, and he found himself able to move again. Handler glanced up to the sky just in time to see the yellow haunches of the creature as it flew out of sight. Its back legs looked like those of a lion.

“It took Roland!” Edmund cried. “The beast took him!”

“I know that,” Handler said. He barely heard him, busy as he was trying to come up with a plan of attack.

“It’s gunna eat him!”

Handler frowned. “You don’t know that.”

Claire found her voice. “What are you standing around for?” she demanded. “He’s in trouble! You must rescue him!”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want any of you to come,” Handler said. “Stay here, don’t move a muscle, and I’ll rescue your brother. But don’t leave. I don’t want to be chasing after you as well.”

He undid the clasp on his cloak, folded it quickly, and threw the bundle to Claire.

“Keep an eye on that,” he said. 

Without waiting for a reply, Handler started running through the woods, Precious at his hells.

“A gryphon,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. It fit, and fortunately it wouldn’t be the most difficult creature to get rid of. Gryphons weren’t particularly vicious, and didn’t have the brain capacity to be properly malevolent. The problem would be with the boy. 

He was closing in on the gryphon, despite the stitch developing in his side. He could see the creature through the trees, Roland swinging from its claws. Then the gryphon’s grip loosened and Roland screamed.

Handler nearly flung a spell to save him regardless of the possible consequences, when the gryphon grabbed the boy out of the sky. Its talons clamped more firmly around the boy’s arm, the gryphon hauled him towards the large tree. Handler felt his lungs starting to work again.

“I think it’s a young one,” Handler managed. Speaking was difficult. He would have to get in better shape if running like this was to become commonplace. “It can – barely carry him. It’s heading for that big tree.”

“Told you it was suspicious,” Precious muttered. Her words were almost lost in the scattering of leaves and branches beneath her feet.

They got to the base of the huge tree. Handler stopped, resting his hand on his knees and sucking in air as he looked around. The area was surrounded by pieces of iron and other metals – the gryphon’s trove. At least this meant he could return the missing items.

Precious climbed over the rusting parts of something well past the point of proper identification before turning to look at Handler.

“Well?” she said. “Come on!”

“Giv- give me a minute,” he said, raising a hand. 

There was a cry from the top of the tree that sounded like a very angry eagle. It was followed by that of a boy who sounded like he was in very much trouble.

“We don’t have a minute,” she said, but Handler was already moving. 

He made his way around the metal as quickly as he could, most of which looked like it would give him some sort of disease if he looked at it too long. He hadn’t climbed a tree in ages – such things were of course beneath him – and he wasn’t sure he had ever climbed anything this high before. He hoped he’d be able to manage it. He gripped the bark and started climbing.

Precious skittered up the tree next to him while Handler busied himself with finding footholds. There was no sound from the nest as it came into view, a collection of wood and metal frame that Handler knew would prove to be bowl-shaped and lined with materials such as dried grass and down for comfort. Handler didn’t want to think about what the silence might have meant, and he had little time to do so as the sounds of the gryphon cooing came down to meet them.

From her branch above him, Precious looked up.

“Hurry,” was all she said, and Handler did so without argument.

By the time he was close enough to reach for the nest his arms were screaming in protest. Trying not to think about the distance or the long drop down, he leapt towards the nest, grabbed it, and hung on.

“Are you alright?” Precious asked from above him. He couldn’t see her, but knew she must have been safe.

“Fine,” Handler gasped as he pulled himself up. He was happy the branch had been able to support his weight at all. “Let’s get this gryphon –“

He looked up. Two large golden eyes were looking straight at him from over the rim of the nest. The last of the setting sunlight glinted menacingly off the beak between them.

Handler let out a small squeak and nearly fell out of the nest.

The gryphon lunged as Handler managed to grab onto another branch. It raised a forepaw, talons extended to savage him, when Roland yelled out, “No, stop!”

The gryphon squawked and pulled itself away from Handler, ruffling its feathers. Not quite convinced it wasn’t about to lash out at him, Handler carefully climbed into the nest, balancing himself on a large piece of wood and praying it wouldn’t all collapse under him. With a quick glance about, he saw that the metal scattered across the ground wasn’t all it had taken. Woven into the nest, among the branches and the down, were remnants of carved wood, chairs and sills and even what looked like a medium sized frame for a painting, along with chains and lockets and trinkets, all of them made of metal. The sort of thing a village would want returned, since they all looked valuable.

He turned to face the gryphon, no magic yet summoned but prepare to react to anything. Precious slipped into the nest through the gaps in the branches, falling most gracelessly as her paw caught on something and she tumbled through the dried grass and downy feathers.

She shook herself, fur fluffing out as she faced the gryphon. Roland giggled, and all three of them – the wizard, the familiar, and the gryphon – turned to look at him.

“That was funny,” he said, smiling brightly. He skipped over to the gryphon and patted its beak. “Be nice to the Mister Wizard’s familiar, okay? And don’t scare Mister Wizard either – he’s very nice. He’s just a little scared because you flew off with me so suddenly.”

The gryphon cooed and Roland giggled like it had said something amusing.

Handler blinked. “You can understand that thing?”

“He isn’t a thing,” Roland said absent-mindedly. “He’s a gryphon. He told me so.” He turned around and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. “Please Mister Wizard, you gotta help him – he’s sad and lonely and he don’t know where his family is. He says the villagers are really scary and mean to him and he never met his ma or da and…” 

The gryphon gave a sad croak and tried to preen Roland’s hair. Roland ducked out of the way.

“And he don’t know how to hunt well or nothing, and he can’t fly away either cause his wings don’t let him fly very long. Please – he’s just lonely and he wants to eat and be happy and be able to fly.” 

The boy ran his fingers through the brown feathers on the gryphon’s head. It was still immature enough that the crest of feathers that crowned the head of adult males was little more than a couple of undeveloped tufts. The gryphon made another sad noise and Roland wrapped his arms around its neck to comfort it.

Its leonine tail waved from side to side as it bent its head to investigate Precious. Roland, still hanging on, was nearly pulled onto the floor of the nest as the gryphon forgot it had a human clinging to it. It looked over Precious, gave a krawk, and then tried to preen her with its sharp beak. She leapt out of the way, putting Handler’s ankles between herself and it. 

“Fix the situation, Handler,” she said. “We ought to be leaving.”

“Of course,” he said. He scanned the gryphon and its nest, trying to decipher what, exactly, was wrong. 

From what he knew of gryphons in general – which, since he didn’t particularly like animals to begin with, wasn’t much – everything seemed to be well. The nest was well-built, or at least wasn’t collapsing under them, though it did seem a little lacklustre and slapdash. Handler put that to the lack of experience and parental guidance. Sunlight drifted down from a cylindrical gap in the branches of the tree, where the gryphon would fly in and out of its nest, and it didn’t seem to be anything unusual about it. The beast seemed perfectly healthy, with no visible mange or anything – glossy feathers, thick fur, large paws and claws and a beak that certainly looked healthy enough. But the creature wasn’t even fully able to support Roland’s weight for a short flight, when it should have been able to carry that and more. Handler’s fire attack from earlier hadn’t done that much damage. Its wings seemed like they could extend perfectly well and it barely seemed to notice the burnt down. So he was left with the only option that made sense.

“The gryphon’s probably sick,” Handler told Roland, assuming that creature would understand somehow. “Worked metals, especially iron, leeches energy from most magical creatures. If it stopped surrounding itself with this much metal, it would probably be able to fly without a problem. In fact it would be best if it stopped stealing from humans altogether.”

“Are you sure?” Roland asked, doubtful.

“Yes,” Handler said, although he wasn’t entirely. But it was the best answer he had to give, and he really wanted to get out of this oversized bird’s nest.

“I don’t know…” Roland said. “He says the iron doesn’t hurt him and he really likes the sparkly parts...”

“The creature’s young and wrong,” Handler said. “But it will be fine if it leaves this area. I can help with that, but first we should get down from this tree. Before one of us falls out.”

Roland spoke quietly to the gryphon, who gave a small squawk, and lifted its wings. Taking Roland carefully in its claws, the gryphon flew up through the gap overhead. Dead leaves showered down on Handler and Precious as the creature and the boy disappeared out of sight.

“It had better not drop the child,” Handler muttered. “His sister will have a fit.”

“Of course,” Precious said. “Now, get back to climbing down. With any luck, this won’t take much longer.”

Handler started down the tree, more careful on his descent than he had been on the ascent. He looked up when he realised that Precious wasn’t following him.

She waited on the brim of the nest, pacing in a tight circle. He waited and eventually she turned to him, ears folded back.

“May I ride on your shoulders?” she asked. “It is quite a long drop, and it wouldn’t do for one of us to fall.”

Handler rolled his eyes, but climbed back up to put her on his shoulder. She gripped the cloth of his shirt, not making a sound as he climbed. Handler tried not to swear.

The boy and the gryphon were waiting for them at the bottom of the tree, both looking just as safe as before. The gryphon was perched like a curious puppy, wings half open and head cocked to one side as it watched the wizard. Roland had his hand buried in the feathers of the gryphon’s head, reluctant to let go.

Handler slid down the last few feet of trunk, banging his elbow on something and hissing so as to not start cursing brilliantly at the shock and pain. Today was not a good day for him.

“C’mon Mister Wizard!” Roland cried. “It’s almost night time and I’m hungry and I want food. And Mister Gryphon wants you to do what you promised and get him to a nice new place.”

“Did I promise that?” Handler muttered, rubbing his elbow.

Roland giggled but didn’t say anything.

“Let’s get back to your siblings,” Handler said. “Before they kill someone out of worry. Like me, for example.”

“Okay!” Roland replied as he began to skip through the darkened forest, the gryphon bounding at his side. The creature’s tail flailed wildly, its wings still half open for balance. It still wasn’t the most adept at running, however, and it kept banging into trees, catching its talons and tripping over roots, broken stumps, and at least once over part of its own hoard. It was a most clumsy animal, Handler had to say. Especially since it didn’t have the excuse of being night-blind.

Handler and Precious followed them at a walk, both worn out, but they were still close enough to see the gryphon manage a spectacular roll into the small clearing where Claire and Edmund were waiting. Right on cue, Claire gave a shriek and then there was the sound of a branch being pulled from the undergrowth. Handler dashed in before any more problems could arise from this situation.

“No wait!” Roland called to his sister. She stopped in her tracks, branch still in her hands like a club.

“Are you alright, Roland?” she called back.

“He’s fine,” Handler said as he walked into the clearing. “Just an overenthusiastic gryphon chick.” He brushed a dried leaf out of his hair. 

“He’s very friendly,” Roland said to his siblings, and then launched into a long explanation of what had just occurred, detailing every moment he could remember and some that Handler was fairly sure he had just made up.

When Roland had finished his story, Claire looked up at Handler. She was still clutching the branch and seemed very intent on using it yet.

“So, Mister Handler?” she said. “Are you going to get rid of it?”

“Not ‘get rid’!” Roland protested. “He’s my friend. Mister Wizard said that he would send ‘im to a new home.”

“Can you do that?” Claire asked. “Oh, Edmund, no – don’t get to close to it!”

Edmund had approached the gryphon with one hand extended. The gryphon had bent its head to investigate, and nuzzled the boy’s hand with its beak. Edmund laughed and stroked the beak in return.

“He says he likes you,” Roland said, giggling. 

Edmund leaned in to examine the creature. Startled, it unfurled its wings, extending them like a canopy over the boy and Edmund leaned in to run his hand along the gryphon’s middle, where feathers gave way to fur. Roland held onto the wings with gentle fingers, trying to examine the speckling on the feathers despite the lack of light. The gryphon cooed at the attention. All the happiness and laughter was beginning to get on Handler’s nerves.

“I’m going to send him away now,” the wizard said, summoning the spell to the tips of his fingers. His tone brokered no argument. Beside him, Precious’ fur started to rise with the magic, and she lashed her tale, annoyed at the pace he was taking.

“Alright,” Edmund said. He sounded somewhat disappointed, but said goodbye to the gryphon and walked back over to his sister. Claire hugged him fiercely, sending a glare at the gryphon as though warning it not to cause her other brother any more harm. Roland, however, didn’t seem to want to move.

Handler sighed. “Roland, step away from the gryphon.”

Roland looked at the creature, who looked back at him with wide sad eyes. 

“Goodbye,” Roland said sadly. “I’ll miss you.”

The gryphon gave a sad coo in farewell and ran its beak delicately through Roland’s hair. It took a couple of steps back as Roland retreated to his sister, who hugged him as well before checking him all over for injuries. The gryphon bowed its head, its wings brushing the ground and tail drooping.

“He wants to know where you’re gunna send him,” Roland said, fighting against Claire’s worried grasp. “You gotta tell him before you do anything, okay?”

Handler sighed again. “Sure,” he said. Feeling rather ridiculous, he turned to the gryphon. “I’m going to send you to a nature reserve, somewhere in the wilderness close enough to a flock of wild gryphons that you can find your way to them, but far enough that you won’t get killed for trespassing in their territory.” It was the only place he could think of to send it.

The gryphon gave a worried squawk that Handler waved away. 

“Don’t worry, you’re young, you should be accepted just fine. Besides, there’s a place nearby where you can go and ask help from the humans who live there – they know how to deal with magical creatures. Other than that, try to avoid humans from now on.”

The gryphon cocked its head, but seemed to understand. 

“Right,” Handler said. “I’m going to cast the spell now.”

A displacement spell – basically a teleportation spell but for anything that wasn’t the caster – was difficult and generally unwieldy, especially when one was trying to displace animals. It usually required almost fully charged magic and a well-rested mind and while Handler had only one of those two, he was confident in his abilities. He would just have to work through his fatigue. He could feel the magic around him, filtering through Precious and into his chest, then down through the veins of his arms and into the tips of his fingers. He cast the spell with a bright white light, the fringes tinged red in places and blue in others. The next moment, the gryphon was gone and the scent of the forest rushed in until it was almost overpowering. It was over very quickly.

Handler coughed so as to disguise the sudden lack of air in his lungs, then stood up straight. He bent stiffly to pick his cloak up from where Claire had dropped it and brushed the leaves from it before putting it on.

“There,” he said. Precious bumped her head against his leg. “The village is saved, the gryphon is saved, we get the horse, and now we can go back to the inn. Come along, children.” 

He turned with a dramatic swirl of his cloak to hide his sudden light-headedness and Edmund and Claire followed immediately after him. Roland stayed where he was, and whispered “Bye-bye Mister Gryphon,” to the space where it had last been before running up to catch them.

“Mister Wizard?” Edmund asked as they walked. “Do places like that really exist? Where people help magical creatures?”

“Yes,” Handler said, not having the energy to be anything but to the point. “The one I sent the gryphon to is in Scotland. There’s a handful in England. They’re usually out in rural areas, where larger creatures need more help.”

“That’s amazing!” Edmund said, eyes bright. “I wanna work there!”

“Me too!” Roland said. “I wanna play with all the nice creatures!”

“Don’t bother dreaming about it,” Claire told them. “You won’t get the chance. Only powerful wizards and witches can work there. Besides, as Mister Handler said, there aren’t any in the city.”

Crestfallen, the boys said nothing else on the subject, except to share a secretive glance when Claire wasn’t looking. Handler decided to keep his mouth shut on the matter.

They left the forest and found themselves on the road. The various villagers and travellers were still waiting there, now with lanterns that someone had had the presence of mind to fetch. Their eyes were wide when they saw them approaching. It was almost like they hadn’t expected them to return at all. Then, as they realised what it meant, a slow cheer rose up.

“Your missing items are around that tree,” Handler said to the inn owner Lester over the din of the crowd. “And the gryphon is gone, never to return again. Now, what was that about free room and board?”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning Handler made his way down the inn’s staircase, blinking sunlight out of his eyes. A too-cheerful Precious followed him, and he found himself mildly annoyed at her. The children were sitting at a table, shovelling food into their mouths. They were being fussed over by a couple of local women Handler assumed were the ones to have brought the food in the first place, both parties seemingly enjoying the attention.

 

The children, or rather Roland and Edmund, smiled brightly when they saw him and greeted him enthusiastically. He replied with a vague and non-committal noise. Claire was busy trying to make sure that everyone was eating and remembering what little manners they had.

 

Roland escaped the women’s grips and rushed over, still with jam around his mouth, and grabbed Handler’s sleeve to drag him to the table.

 

“Eat up, Mister Wizard!” he crowed. “We’re gunna meet the horses and then we’re gunna go rescue Big Sis!”

 

Handler sighed as he sat down, picking up a pastry from a basket and tearing at it. It had the roughly the same consistency as sandpaper. He managed to swallow it anyway, washing it down with a lukewarm cup of weak herbal tea. Precious climbed onto his lap and then onto the table, sniffing at the food that had been laid out. He forced himself to eat more of the pastry and some of the greasy bacon and the overcooked eggs. He would need strength for the day ahead, even if strength came in the form of something that tasted more like rubber that food. Precious poked at a clump of eggs on Handler’s plate, looking mildly disgusted.

 

He reminded himself that this journey wasn’t going to be very long. It wasn’t, for example, like he was going all the way to India. He had done that trek before, and it had ended with a Hindustani witch with a sadistic streak sending a quiver’s worth of cobras after him. And with so little prompting, too. He had been seeing Kali in his nightmares for months after that and since then had refused any offers to voyage to Asia. Or out of Britain, for that matter.

 

They would be home soon, he reminded himself as he set down the mug. Just a week or so of journeying to go. And if he was incredibly lucky, he may even escape the quest mostly unharmed and with slightly more money than he had started with. He didn’t know where he would get this payment from, but he was determined to remain optimistic.

 

Then he caught sight of the remains of his terrible breakfast and felt the flash of optimism disappear. He frowned.

 

All they needed now was the horse they’d been promised and then they could leave. He noticed that Lester, the owner, was skulking nearby. Handler raised an eyebrow.

 

“So,” he said. “The horses and provisions?”

 

Lester seemed to deflate. “They’re being readied for you, Master Wizard. We’ve given enough provisions for a few days, but it’s all we can spare. I hope you understand.” His voice rose slightly on the last words, like he was legitimately scared of what Handler would do. “We, ahem, recovered most of the items the gryphon had taken from us, so we took that into consideration as well.”

 

“That’s fine,” Handler said, apparently to the man’s great surprise. “We will be collecting it all shortly.” Shortly meaning as soon as he could pry the children from their motley mess of a breakfast.

 

Lester wandered off, disappearing into the crowd to appease some patron, looking thankful that no one else was able to set the entire building on fire with a glance.

 

“Let’s go,” Handler said, standing.

 

“Aww,” Edmund said, but dropped his spoon and left the food where it was.

 

Claire wiped both her brothers’ mouths with a damp cloth, leaving them somewhat presentable. When her back was turned, both of them grabbed pastries from the basket and shoved them into their pockets. Handler decided to say nothing. If they got attacked by crows or something it would be their own fault. Then again, Roland would probably just befriend them and then Handler and Precious would have to deal with _feathers_ and it would be terrible. He wouldn’t stop her from eating any of the birds, either.

 

He left the inn with his familiar on his shoulder and his bag on his back, sweeping into the morning sunlight and then standing there, blinking majestically to adjust his eyes before finding the horses to inspect.

 

There were two horses tied to a post. One was a large black gelding that pawed the ground with a hoof, tossing his head and glaring at everyone who came near like he would bite at the slightest provocation. Handler’s face dropped as he realised that yes, this was most likely the gelding that he had been promised. He should have known that the innkeeper had agreed to his request for a horse too fast. The other horse was a bay mare, who looked much calmer than the gelding. She seemed to be ignoring both her fellow horse and the man attaching bags to her saddle equally, grazing on the stringent tufts of grass that grew around the post. The man secured the bags to the mare and came over to Handler, smiling.

 

“The mare is a gift,” he said. “Getting rid of the gryphon allowed me to retrieve several things it had stolen and I couldn’t replace. Please take her as thanks.”

 

Handler’s frown didn’t change. “That seems awfully convenient,” he said. “Is there a particular reason you want to be rid of her?”

 

The man shrugged. “She’s getting on in years, but she’s plenty useful for carrying the little ‘uns. Also, she might be useful to feed that beast, since you might not want to feed him the children.” He gestured towards the gelding with a thumb.

 

It was too early for this sort of thing. “What?” Handler asked.

 

“Well, we don’t _actually_ think he was the reason all those barn cats went missing,” the man said. “He does ride well with most people, after all. But seeing as he looks like a horse and yet his mother was a mule, we’re not going to take any chances on him being magic.” He clasped Handler’s shoulder, minding Precious’ occupation of the other one. “Good luck with that beast, my friend.”

 

The man walked away as the children ran up. Handler felt his stomach sink. Horses were not among his favourite of creatures on a good day, and potentially magical ones even less. He decided to ignore it and hope that the problem wouldn’t come up. He could feel Precious’ heckles rise against his jaw as she looked over their options for riding.

 

“Horses!” Roland yelled. He ran to them before Handler could stop him.

 

The gelding lifted his head, staring at the small boy, and for a minute Handler wondered if he would have to jump in and rescue him from the beast’s jaws. Roland began introducing himself and his siblings, speaking fast enough to be incomprehensible. The horse stood perfectly still, like it was stunned. Then Roland hugged his head, and the horse gave a gentle snort, like he had decided that he would allow the small human to touch him for now.

 

Handler sighed, and turned to the innkeeper.

 

“Are you sure you have everything in order?” he said.

 

“Of course I do,” Lester huffed. “It’s all there in the saddlebags. However, you’ll forgive us if we don’t give you our best tack.”

 

Handler was going to make some smart remark when Precious batted at his ear.

 

“Let’s get on with this as quickly as we can,” she hissed.

 

“That’s fine,” Handler said to Lester. “We will be on our way.”

 

He turned with a swirl of his cloak, a move that he was quite adept at. Precious stayed fixed where she was, not even bothered by the motion. The man who had given them the mare had helped Claire onto her back, explaining to her how to ride and what she would need to do to help Edmund, who was sitting in front of her.

 

This could only end with good things, he thought as they approached the gelding. The horse gave a snort and stamped his back hoof. Handler narrowed his eyes at the beast. He couldn’t tell if he was being just as evil as any other horse, or if this was the start of something even more worrisome than typical equine grudges. Precious hissed at the beast, who snorted back, obviously not too impressed by her. Which, Handler supposed, was better than most animals’ reactions to familiars. Plenty of creatures would spook at a familiar’s presence. Yet another reason to dislike horses.

 

Handler took his place on the gelding’s back with a swing of his long legs. A villager lifted Roland up to him and he sat the squirming boy down. Roland kept looking this way and that, running his small hands through the horse’s coarse mane and across his thick neck. Handler didn’t care what he did so long as he didn’t fall off when they started walking, which he set the gelding to do as soon as Handler had the reins in his hand.

 

Without saying much more than a swift goodbye to the assembled villagers, they left the village and started down the road. Immediately the horse’s gait made Handler feel uneasy, and Precious pressed herself against him. Sighing, he readied himself for the journey to feel even longer than it already seemed to be. At least the children seemed to be coping unusually well.

 

Adding to his discomfort, they were barely out of sight of the town when Roland decided to start talking again.

 

“We should give them names!” he piped up. “They say they have names already, but they don’t like them very much and they said we should give them new ones, because they’re ours now!”

 

“Great idea!” Claire said. She sounded like she was humouring him more than anything. “What were you thinking?”

 

“Hmmm…” Roland said, making a loud show of thinking.

 

“How about Black Steel for him?” Edmund asked, pointing at the gelding.

 

“I’m not sure…” Claire began.

 

“That’s a silly name!” Roland said.

 

“Is not!” Edmund retorted. “You ask him if he likes it.”

 

Handler let go of the reins for a moment to rub his temples with one hand. He could feel a headache coming on. Roland’s constant wriggling wasn’t helping, either.

 

Precious, assured that none of the children were watching her, butted her head against his cheek affectionately before pulling away to watch despondently as the scene unfolded. And probably to quietly laugh at him.

 

“I will!” Roland snapped back. He leaned over to whisper something to the horse in his ear, and Handler had to reach an arm around his middle to keep him from slipping off.

 

“He says he likes it,” Roland reported after a moment, sounding a little sad. Then, remembering that he was riding on and talking with a horse, immediately perked up. “Black Steel it is!”

 

The two boys laughed and Roland added, “What about her?”

 

“How about Silver?” Edmund asked. “It goes with Black Steel, right?”

 

“Hmm,” Claire said. “It doesn’t seem to suit her very much. She needs a pretty name…” She gave the mare’s rump a pat, flattening the hair. “How about Honey?”

 

The mare, whether in coincidence or not, flicked her ears and gave a soft neigh.

 

Roland giggled. “She says she likes it a lot!” He turned, almost twisting his head full around like an owl. “What do you think, Mister Wizard?” he asked with a brilliant smile.

 

Handler sighed. “They’re fine names,” he said.

 

Roland’s smile became even brighter, if that was at all possible. Then he turned back to his siblings and they began talking about whatever inanities came to mind. Handler automatically stopped paying attention, instead concentrating on keeping the horse going in the right direction. He had been right – the gelding was spirited, and seemed intent on foiling Handler’s plans to get anywhere fast by stopping to eat the plant life that grew along the road at every opportunity. He supposed it could be worse.

 

Precious, apparently satisfied by Handler’s conduct and in no mood to lecture him, braced herself against his neck and fell asleep.

*

It was noon when trouble struck. Shockingly, it was not because of Black Steel. Handler would have almost preferred that, he thought as he sent a few balls of fire at the swarm of cockatrices that had come out of nowhere to dive at them. The flames sent the creatures fluttering back, but didn’t send them away. Handler didn’t even know why they were attacking. Cockatrices were territorial at beast, but never travelled in groups like these ones were. Plus, they preferred to live near humans – not on otherwise empty roads in the middle of the forest.

 

Handler shouted a spell and the cockatrices bounced off the shield he summoned.

 

“We need to start moving quickly,” Handler said to Claire. He needed to yell to be heard over Roland’s cries to not hurt the cockatrices, that they were only doing what they were asked to.

 

Claire nodded, and kicked Honey into a canter. The horse didn’t need telling twice, though Black Steel did. He seemed quite intent on biting the cockatrices’ long, scaled tails out of the air.

 

Handler forced him to move, and they caught up to Honey quickly. There was a village in the distance and Claire turned her horse to follow the road towards it. One of the cockatrices separated itself from the swarm and landed on the road in front of the horse, flaring its feathers and hissing. A flock of chickens and geese rushed out of the bushes by the road. Honey’s ears flattened against her head and she turned against Claire, dashing down the road. Black Steel followed, and so did the cockatrices.

 

“What on Earth is going on?” Precious hissed. Her claws were digging into his shoulder.

 

“Not a clue,” Handler said. “Maybe it’s the storm.”

 

It was true that thick clouds were building on the western horizon, but it didn’t seem like a particularly sound explanation.

 

“Let’s just get out of here,” she said. “If they won’t let us near the village, we may have to find shelter somewhere else.”

 

“Or we could just burn them out of the sky,” Handler snapped.

 

“No!” Roland said. “You can’t do that Mister Wizard. That’s too mean.”

 

“Stay quiet,” Handler said. He glanced back at the swarm, only to see that the cockatrices had been joined by a number of crows and song birds. He swore, realising that he was running out of options.

 

“Mister Wizard!” Edmund yelled from up ahead. “There’s a tower! We should go there!”

 

Handler saw the building he was referring too – just barley, thanks to Black Steel’s bounding. It looked old and dilapidated, brown and grey amidst the dying leaves. It was set far enough back in the trees that Handler wasn’t quite sure how to find his way to it, except for a shadow that may have been a path at some point.

 

Claire tried to ride Honey past the faint path, but was stopped as the swarm of cockatrice changed direction and flew right at the horse. Honey tried to bolt, and Claire did the only thing she could think of. She turned the horse down the path and raced towards the tower.

 

Handler followed her, and they left the whirling of wings behind them. Honey slowed, finally listening to her rider, and so did Black Steel. Handler found himself able to breathe once more, though Precious was still puffed up in a ball. Black Steel slowed to a walk, and he freed a hand to pet Precious’ fur flat.

 

He frowned as Roland shivered against him.

 

“Mister Wizard, this place is scary,” he said. “The animals have all gone away.”

 

“No they haven’t,” Handler said. “There’s a flock of wood pigeons over in that tree.”

 

For some reason, this only scared Roland more.

 

“Is this place haunted?” Edmund piped up. He sounded quite excited at the prospect. “I wanna meet a real ghost!”

 

“Hush,” Claire said breathlessly. “Don’t scare your brother. I’m sure this forest is quite safe, and not haunted in the least.”

 

“Actually, there’s a distinct possibility that it is,” Handler said. Between the odd behaviour of the birds and the sudden disappearance of the cockatrices, he couldn’t think of anything else it could be.

 

Claire whipped around to face him, but before she could start scolding Honey stumbled out of the trees and they found themselves right in front of the tower.

 

The fence hung off its hinges, rusted heavily and squeaked in the growing wind. The stone wall it was set into was grey and pitted, falling apart and nearly gone in some places, and covered in moss and lichen. The grass inside was dead, the only things still growing were thistles and brambles. The tower was made of the same plain grey stone as the wall, and moss covered the areas around the door-frame and windows, all of which were empty. Vines as sickly as seaweed crept up the walls. The wind whistled eerily through the building, which seemed quite empty.

 

A tad melodramatic, Handler thought.

 

“Yes, it does seem quite haunted. Now, let’s get going inside,” he said as he dismounted. It was going to rain very soon and he would rather be inside when it started to do so, haunted or not. It might also give the birds some time to cool their heads before Handler found he needed to set them on fire.

 

With some shoving, all of them, even the horses, managed to get through the entrance. The inside wasn’t much better than what they had already seen. It smelled of dank and mildew, with the hollow, wooden scent of human magic beneath it all. The remains of carpets and rushes rotted underfoot, allowing with something that might have been a living creature in previous weeks. Handler summoned spheres of light to illuminate the room.

 

The boys scampered about the room, poking at things Handler was sure were better left undisturbed. Claire, industrious as ever, took the feed bags and brushes from Honey’s saddle bags and began to care for them. Handler kept an eye on the children – though Roland would soon be joining Claire, as he so far her had proved he wouldn’t never missed an opportunity to care for the horses.

 

Precious crawled out from Handler’s arms, landing on the floor, and sneezed. She wrinkled her nose and looked about the room.

 

“It appears you’ve found us quite the resting place,” she said.

 

“Oh hush,” he replied. “We could still be out in the rain.”

 

No matter how much he tried, Handler couldn’t tell when the tower had been abandoned. The structure was fairly sizeable and even from the remains he could tell that it had once been quite elegant. The architecture was that of a good three hundred or so years prior, and Handler wondered if it had been some nobleman’s hunting castle. But nothing remained of its previous inhabitants to prove that. He sent out a subtle probing spell, and between that and Precious’ finely tuned familiar senses, he should have been able to sense any magical creature in the house. But there was none.

 

“Well,” he said to Precious. “Perhaps we were a little hasty with our assumption of this place being haunted. I mean, it _has_ been abandoned quite inexplicably and that wind seems fairly ominous, and we _were_ chased into it by a swarm of creatures behaving oddly. And now that I think if it, it did seem particularly dark around the tower. But all in all, it seems like quite the nice location.”

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, there was a creak from somewhere above them and the temperature in the room dropped as surely as if a winter storm had blown in.

 

Precious flicked her tail, narrowing her eyes at her master. “And perhaps _this_ will teach you to mind your blasted mouth.”

 

The wind slammed in through the building, bringing with it the scent of magic and rot and ozone. Roland and Edmund immediately abandoned their exploration to hide behind the wizard, which he was fine with as long as they didn’t start screaming. Honey whinnied nervously, stamping against the beaten earth of the floor. Black Steel seemed calm when Handler glanced at him, flicking his ears at the sudden cold. At least neither of them looked as though they were about to bolt.

 

A presence seemed to form in the middle of the empty room. If it was a ghost, magic wouldn’t work and he’d have to figure out how to send it away. But there was a chill Handler felt in his bones that told him it was something else. He kept magic at his fingertips, ready to set something on fire.

 

The wind wrapped itself into a solid form in the middle of the room. Something slammed into Handler and he heard a scream as he fell back.

 

“ _You!”_

 


	6. Chapter 6

That one word tore from a throat like the roar of a wounded animal. Handler stumbled. Claws – or talons – slashed at his throat and face. He pushed back, trying to get some space between them. He saw patches of black beyond long brown hair and glimpses of white skin. 

“You!” it screamed again. Handler shoved, harder this time, and summoned fire into the cup of his hand. He slammed it against bare skin. It screamed and fell back as Handler intensified the flames, the pitch of its scream rising with the heat.

It – the person – fell back and Handler fell forward, loosing contact for only a moment before catching himself with the heel of his palm on its exposed stomach. Its skin burned and it spat and hissed and cursed in a language Handler couldn’t recognize, struggling against him but unable to throw him off, and Handler was able to see clearly who it was.

She looked like a young woman, but definitely wasn’t human. Handler wasn’t able to say exactly what it was that tipped him off. Maybe it was her skin, which looked like white marble, the veins showing blue-black beneath. Her face was moon-shaped, her eyes a brilliant blue and glaring venomously up at him. Her red-brown hair was fanned out beneath her, long enough to reach her waist. She was dressed in rags and scraps of leather that had been crudely stitched together into patchwork breeches and something like a tailcoat, her pale arms and stomach exposed. Beneath Handler’s hand, the skin of her stomach was beginning to boil. 

He jerked his hand away and pulled back. She pulled herself into a crouch, putting a long, delicate hand against the wound. Her wrists were thin, surrounded by old scars, and her fingers looked as fragile as bird bones. She was glaring up at him with her face now half obscured by hair.

“Who are you?” Handler demanded.

Despite the pain twisting her face, she laughed in a voice like a croaking crow.

“You dare forget me, wizard?” she said. “You, you worthless mortal, dared to leave me here, and then to forget? I even sent my messengers to bring you here for me.” She spat each word out like she wasn’t used to speaking.

Handler, for his part, didn’t even blink. He had been called much worse. The fact that she seemed to recognize him was new, however, as was the implication that she was the one controlling the cockatrices and birds. He kept himself calm. 

“If you answered civilly, I might begin to remember. But you need to actually answer my questions for that to happen.”

The girl bared her teeth, saying nothing.

There was a scuffle at the back of the room and both Handler and the girl turned towards it. There was a snap of wings and a hiss from the shadows. Precious emerged after a moment of silence, a large bird in her mouth. It was a pigeon, white feathers speckled with black. Her jaws were clamped on its neck – not hard enough to injure it, but enough to keep it still so it didn’t scratch her eyes out with its black feathered legs. It hadn’t managed to harm her at all despite being almost the same size as she. She came to stand at her master’s side, and the pigeon turned its head to glare up at Handler. Its eyes were the same sky blue as the girl’s and looked far too intelligent for any bird.

The girl lunged snarling at Precious and Handler pushed her back, away from his familiar and she slammed against the wall. The girl went limp, no longer fighting, her hate-filled eyes glaring up at him.

“Well,” she said quietly. “I suppose I was wrong to believe that rumour the gryphon sent. You aren’t the same wizard as he. Your little caged demon is different.” Her voice was laced with hatred that turned the croak of her voice to a growl.

“Do I know you?” Handler asked. He leaned forward slightly, crossing his arms so that he was looking her in the eyes. The comment about Precious had irked him, almost more so than the attack. 

“Ha!” she snapped. “Perhaps you do not now, you will soon.” She was on her feet in a single, inhuman movement, hands stretched out. Handler stumbled back, fire already blazing in his hand.

“Stop it!” Claire yelled. She forced her way between the wizard and the girl, hands outstretched like she was pushing them apart. She shot a look first to the girl, then turned and glared at Handler.

“Please calm down!” she said. Her voice was even but her hands were trembling slightly. “Both of you! If you stopped fighting for a few minutes and talked like civilized people –“ She aimed this directly at Handler “– then I’m sure you’d be able to figure out what’s happening. All right?”

Her voice wavered on the last words, but she didn’t move.

The boys apparently couldn’t let their sister have all the questions. “What’d you mean by ‘caged demon’?” Edmund asked, at the same time as Roland said, “Why does the birdie sound funny?” 

They were both watching from the other side of the room with wide eyes. They were both also promptly ignored by the wizard and the girl. There would be time for answers later, Handler figured. If they were necessary.

The girl smiled, all ice, as she straightened herself.

“Why, Wizard. You haven’t even explained to these apprentices of yours, what it is that grants you your title, your power?”

“They are not my apprentices,” he said. “And don’t derail the conversation. Who are you and why are you here? Why did you attack us?”

She tilted her head, watching him like an owl might a mouse.

“I brought you here because I heard a rumour,” she said, voice crackling. “That a certain wizard with a certain smell to his magic had aided one of my kin. I wanted to see you. But you are not him, and so it does not matter. Your little demon holds my companion.” She gestured to the bird Precious still had in her jaws. Her eyes turned hard. “Release him.” 

Precious didn’t respond, heckles raised as she waited for Handler’s command.

“You didn’t answered my first question,” Handler pointed out. He was now more curious, as she had mentioned her kin. He was sure he had never seen anything or anyone that remotely resembled her in his life.

She shrugged languidly, as though she really did think nothing mattered. “You may call me the Tower Mistress. That is what he called me, your master or whomever he was to you.”

“Tower Mistress?” Handler said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that your name?”

She laughed, sudden and harsh once more. “No, you ridiculous child, it is not. And now I begin to wonder if you could even have been his apprentice – I doubt even he would sink so low as to teach a fool like you.”

Handler bit his tongue, remembering what Claire had said about civility. 

“Why don’t you explain what happened?” he asked. “You seem quite angry at someone. I’m a great wizard myself - perhaps I could help you rectify what wrongs have been done to you.”

The Tower Mistress looked unconvinced.

“Precious, let go of the bird,” Handler said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “That can’t be sanitary.”

Obligingly she let the pigeon go. “No, I’d say not,” she spat along with a few downy feathers. 

The pigeon tried to peck her and she swiped back, claws extended. It squawked indignantly and flapped up to the safety of the Tower Mistress’ shoulders. She patted its ruffled feathers, her eyes on Handler like she was still appraising whether or not he was worth bothering with. Eventually, she must have decided that he was, and she gave a languid shrug.

“I had a name once,” she said. “Then the wizard called Hawthorne called to me, bade me to enter his home with a façade of truth and a whirlwind of false promises. When I was safely within this tower of stone, he took my name and my freedom. He bound my name in iron and kept it away so that I would never find it. At first I did not mind. I was only beginning to learn of the world and blinded by what I thought was love. When I tried to leave, I found I could not. Then one night, a faeling dressed in shadows appeared and fought with Hawthorne for his treasures. But by then Hawthorne was weak, and the faeling won with ease. He took all this tower possessed that was of value to him, including my name.” Rage coloured her face as she remembered. “I tried to break free after that, and when I did Hawthorne could no longer face what he had done. Or perhaps I delude myself, and it was his loss of pride that drove him to leave. Either way, he fled this place and left me here, unable to leave or free myself from these spells.”

She locked eyes with Handler. She looked angry, but also somehow relieved. He had no doubt this was the first time she’d told that story in a long time.

Handler’s mind was ablaze with question, all of which seemed to be putting up the most dreadful clanging between his ears. He shook his head and narrowed the noise down to those of utmost importance.

He returned her gaze evenly. “Two questions. First – the wizard who imprisoned you was Hawthorne? He wouldn’t have happened to have a little black hawk for a familiar?”

The Tower Mistress frowned. “Yes, it was. And that was the form of his demon, I believe. She had feathers as black as your little bastardised one’s fur – perhaps that was why I was confused. Hawthorne was the last wizard of this tower. I take it you know him as well?”

“Not personally,” Handler said, gritting his teeth at the comments about Precious. “He was the one who taught my master. He’s been dead for a while.”

The Tower Mistress smiled. There was a harsh gleam in her eye. “Was it a painful death?”

Handler blinked, taken aback. “I – really couldn’t say.”

She contemplated this for few moments. Claire had retreated, trying to keep herself and her brothers out of any line of fire that might spring up. Handler spared the children a glance. They looked a little scared, but none of them seemed injured. Honey looked placid, Black Steel whatever the horse equivalent of bored was. Handler hoped he would be able to get all of them out of there, fast. The Tower Mistress’ story bothered him, for more reason than one, but for all the pressing threat of needing to rescue Tessa, he knew that he couldn’t let this fall to the wayside.

“My second question,” Handler said, snapping the Tower Mistress back into the present. “Is this – are you sure the being who stole your name from Hawthorne was a faeling?”

It was a gamble, but Handler couldn’t ignore the feeling that this faeling was somehow connected to the story Claire had told him. Two instances of unprovoked attacks by fae, even if separated by a hundred years, were too uncommon to not be by the same – or at least related – perpetrators. Besides, a hundred years to a fae or faeling was not as long as it seemed to a human.

“What’s a faeling?” Edmund asked, apparently not realising that now wasn’t the best time for questions.

The Tower Mistress gave the boy a scrutinising look, and Edmund shrank back. Her expression softened and she explained. “You have heard of changelings, child? They are fae who are left in this world to take the place of humans who are carried off to the Faery – those humans are called faeling. They are human and can use human magic, but they become one with the Faery as they live, and so know its magics as well. The fae take the most beautiful of magical children as husbands and wives for their own children, leaving their own malformed offspring to die in the human cradles as recompense.” 

The children only looked slightly less confused. 

“Faery magic is different, so they steal human children to become wizards,” Handler said, hoping it would help at least one of them. “It’s not as common these days, but it does happen.”

The Tower Mistress turned back to Handler.

“My kind live in many worlds,” she told him. “Including yours, including the Faery. I know of faelings and changelings both, and this man was a faeling. There is no doubt.”

Handler thought this over for a moment, trying to find some way out. But in this case, it looked like the best route was the hardest.

“We’ll do it,” he said, looking up. Everyone, including Precious and the pigeon, looked at him. He elaborated. “Your name. I will retrieve it for you, since we’re going to the Faery anyway. It won’t take much more for me to find your name than it will to find their sister.” Or so he hoped.

For a moment a strange expression flashed across the Tower Mistress’ face, and then her mouth turned into a gash like a vulture’s beak. “Since you’re going to that Realm anyway? So if you were not, you would not free me?”

Handler swallowed, finding it suddenly hard to think. The way she was looking at him was almost a threat, that she could tear him apart with a stray thought. Since he liked being whole and healthy, he decided not to test her on that. Instead he met her eyes once more, and couldn’t help but think how the finesse of her bone structure and those haunting eyes and so-human body only seemed to make her more terrifying.

“No,” he said. “I would do so anyway, I promise you. I was simply remarking – that it was quite convenient for all of us –“

The Tower Mistress laughed like a murder of crows. “Indeed, little wizard. Indeed it is. And you hold true to that promise, for otherwise the consequences may be dire.” She paused for a moment, sweeping her gaze across the assembled humans, her eyes finally settling on Precious. Handler braced himself in case it came to some sort of attack, but that didn’t seem to be the Tower Mistress’ goal, since she crouched down to be on the same level as her. This didn’t make him any less suspicious. 

“Now it is my turn to ask the questions. Tell me, red-eyed one, are you too so indebted to this human that you will not fight against a word he says? How sad. I always thought wizards were a most pathetic lot. They derive so much power from enslaving a creature so pure, and what are you given in return? You are bound by any name they happen to have in their minds, with no regard for the weight of that name, forced to remain at their side for the rest of their life. And what happens to you when the mortal creature who bound you dies? Do you know? You threw away so much – tell me, did you ever stop to consider what you were doing, when you answered the call of those little silver bells? Or were you so enchanted that you did not think it through, and only began to regret later, when those peals had ceased to ring in your ears?”

Handler said nothing, watching his familiar, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Precious’ shoulders had stiffened at the Tower Mistress’ words. She paused, forcing herself to relax by arranged her tail neatly around her paws before answering.

“I find it rather difficult to take any insult from one who did not bother to introduce herself in a lady-like fashion,” she said. Her voice was quiet but firm, a tone Handler knew well. She used it on him all the time. “My name is Precious, and Handler is my master. That is all I have to say upon the matter, although you seem to have considerable notions about it. Perhaps they are better served later, once we have freed you, which my master has so kindly agreed to do.”

She gazed up at the Tower Mistress, her molten red eyes meeting the girl’s cold blue ones.

“Oh, perhaps we shall, little bound shadow.” The Tower Mistress’ sharp eyes turned to Handler, and he glared back. “Whoever Hawthorne was to you, what he stole from me holds an importance that is inconceivable to you. The faeling holds it now. Retrieve it and this tower and all its secrets – for it has many, though your expression tells me you find my words to be merely sardonic – will be yours, along with my gratitude, which is not something I give often or lightly. If you fail…” She shrugged. “Then it stands to reason that no mortal can defeat the fae.”

“Stands to reason,” Handler muttered. “Yes, we will defeat this faeling and free you. You have my word, Mistress.”

“And mine, for all the value you shall place in it,” Precious said.

“Do you have something to prove, little one?” the Tower Mistress asked, peering down at her.

“Perhaps,” the familiar replied. Her tail flicked from side to side.

“You have my word!” Edmund cried, leaping up and startling the pigeon off the Tower Mistress’ shoulder. 

“An’ mine!” Roland said, joining his brother. He raced forward and wrapped his arms around the Tower Mistress’ legs. “Don’t worry, Tower Lady! We’ll save you!”

The Tower Mistress looked as though she had never before even thought that something like this would happen. Then her expression turned to one of discomfort as Edmund joined in the hugging.

Claire put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “And I’ll come to – if only to make sure no one else gets into any trouble.”

The Tower Mistress didn’t react for a moment. 

“In… deed…” she said eventually. Then she turned to Handler. “Please remove the small children at once.”

Handler hid a laugh in the guise of a cough. “Yes, well then. Children, come along. The rain seems to be letting up and we should leave before we overstay our welcome. We still have get to the Faery Gate, after all.”

Claire pulled Edmund away from the Tower Mistress and back towards the horses, which Handler had forgotten were even in the room. Apparently not concerned at all by Tower Mistress’ appearance, Honey had gone back to routing around for anything edible and Black Steel seemed to be watching them intently. Claire and Edmund took their reins and led them to the door. There, Claire paused before glancing back at Handler.

“Are we really going to travel in this?” she asked. 

Handler glanced outside, realising that it was raining hard. The road would be mud.

“Do not worry,” said the Tower Mistress behind him. “The rain will end by the time you reach the next crossroads. You should leave now, and make haste before nightfall.”

Claire cringed, but led Black Steel out of the Tower. Edmund followed with Honey. Roland trailed behind his siblings, following them out, then stopping at the door.

“Bye nice Tower Lady!” he said. “Bye-bye Mister Bird!”

The bird gave another un-pigeon-like squawk and bowed its head like it was a member of court. Handler frowned at it as he turned to leave.

“A moment more of your time,” the Tower Mistress said suddenly, and he turned back to her. At his heels, Precious did the same.

The Tower Mistress fidgeted, like she wasn’t sure of the words she was using. Finally, before Handler lost his patience, she said, “Thank you.”

He and Precious blinked as one. Neither of them had been expecting anything like that to come from her mouth.

“Of course,” Handler said quietly. “Thank you for the weather prediction. We won’t be long.” 

I hope, he added silently as he followed the children out. The Tower Mistress was left to her prison as they returned to the settling storm outside.


	7. Chapter 7

_t was dark and Master Oswyn was asleep. The forest was quiet. He carried a bag with everything he needed slung over his shoulder as he made his way up towards the rocky outcrops in the middle of the hills. The house was hidden from sight, ten minutes of forest between it and him. It usually didn’t take him that long, but he had not wanted to rush and hurt himself in the clutter of trees or bring Master Oswyn’s attention to him and so he walked slowly through the night._

 

_The rocks were just ahead, the jagged remains of what had once been standing stones, erected millennia ago for a purpose very similar to his own. Now there was little of it left. He cleared debris and dust off a section of a rock that rose from the ground in between the upright stones. The full moon would soon be above him. Everything would be in place._

 

_He put down the book and opened it to the correct page. He clicked the fingers of his left hand, summoning fire to read by. With his other hand picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing out the circle._

 

_His master had told him not to do this. His master had told him that he was not ready for what this spell would bring. His master was wrong. He was not a child to disobey, but he had been studying magic under his master for more than five years. He knew what he wanted for himself, for his life, and he knew how to achieve it. He would show his master that._

 

_He drew the last few lines and blew the dust away. The circle was finished. He placed his hands onto it, speaking ancient words in a language he had never learned, and the light crackled. His heart beat faster, and he couldn’t help but grin as white light expanded to fill his vision. For a moment, he thought he was falling, for the ground seemed to have given way beneath him, allowing him to enter the void that had expanded around him. But the void had no surface or gravity, so he couldn’t be falling. He realised he couldn’t even move._

 

_A soft voice spoke in his ear. It was neither male nor female, friendly nor violent, with no tone to it at all. It was simply a voice, speaking a word._

 

Hello.

 

_Hello,_

 

_the boy said – or tried to say._

 

_I wish to summon a familiar._

 

You know what that requires.

 

_I do._

 

_The boy picked up the knife he had brought. His heart was pounding. He could barely hear the voice over the sound of the blood rushing through his ears. Too eager, the knife practically slipping from his grasp, he lifted it high and plunged it into his chest. He had a wild grin on his face and barely a thought in his mind to interfere as he cut out his own heart in offering._

 

_Then something went wrong._

 

_What it was, he was never sure. Suddenly there was nothing but blood and pain and light, a beautiful, awful light, and screaming. It might have been his voice alone. The other voice might have joined in until they became one and screamed as one._

 

_When the pain stopped, he was lying face-down in a pool of his own blood. He could barely move, and when he tried pain shot through him and he screamed. He could hear the residual magic, crackling like lightening throughout the circle. When the pain abated, he slowly forced his head up. In the centre of the circle lay a dark something. A stream of blood connected them, and the boy wasn’t sure if it was flowing out from him towards it or from that something into him. Beyond the throbbing in his ears and chest – and the pain, the pain that was abating but still there – he could hear it, taking in air with small, rattling gasps._

 

_She opened her eyes – eyes that showed red even in the dark – and looked at him. She was in pain, confused. She did not understand what had just happened, and she did not understand the weight that rested in her breast._

 

_Tears formed in his eyes, and he held out a bloody hand to caress her soaked fur. All he could think was a single thought as she lay there, in pain but unable to express it, not knowing what it was that she was suddenly longing for, or what it was that she had just given up in exchange. All he could think was how she was suddenly worth everything in the whole world – a single, beloved life, lying below the stars, damaged and so impossibly precious…_

_*_

Handler woke in a strange place, and for a moment he couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten there. The bed was as hard as a board and the blanket he had been given the previous night had been barely worth the name and shoved aside, replaced by his cloak. Then he remembered that he was in a room in an inn, in a small town where he and the children had stopped the previous evening, a half-day’s ride or so from the Tower Mistress’ tower.

 

Precious was heavy on his chest, her paws shoved against his throat, still dead asleep and snoring gently as her flank rose and fell in time with his. She didn’t seem to feel the worry that now gnawed at her master but for the twitching of her tail as the dream echoed through her. It would be distorted and barely understandable, a memory of an event she had been on the other side of, but she would know what the dream had been about anyway.

 

Perhaps it was her weight that had brought the dream, or perhaps the Tower Mistress’ words, her veiled insults that the children wouldn’t understand. Or perhaps it was a memory acting the part of a prophecy.

 

He smiled ruefully. That would be just his luck now, wouldn’t it?

 

Sounds drifted in from the rest of the building, and he decided he should probably go make sure the children weren’t eating food he couldn’t pay for. His familiar was seated so comfortably on his chest, however, that he simply couldn’t bring himself to go downstairs and deal with them just now.

 

After a few moments, she opened her eyes to slits, meeting his gaze.

 

“Good morning,” he said.

 

“And to you too,” she replied. She stood up and stretched out her back, yawning. “Ready to continue our adventure?”

 

He groaned as he sat up. She leapt off his chest, racing to wait by the door. Handler dressed himself quickly and with the effortless grace of someone who often rushed to put clothes on. He pulled out a small comb from his bag and returned his hair to order, scowling at the lack of mirrors.

 

“You’re stalling,” Precious said he went about his morning routine. She was right, of course. “If there is something you wish to discuss with me, you should.”

 

Handler returned the comb to his bag. He wanted to tell her what he was thinking, his worries about the dream, but he didn’t. He shook his head.

 

“If it’s still an issue later, I’ll tell you. I expect it will blow over by lunch, however, and thus turn out to be nothing much at all.”

 

“If you say so,” she replied. She turned to wash an ear, and Handler got the feeling that she knew exactly what was on his mind. She was just waiting for him to bring it up. But the wizard kept his lips tight and said nothing more on the matter.

 

Then Precious stopped her washing and tilted her head towards the door. Handler did the same and realised he could hear faint, giggling whispers emanating from the other side of it. Stifling another groan, he got up and opened the door. Edmund and Roland, having been leaning up against it when he did, nearly crashed into him.

 

“You’re up, Mister Wizard!” Edmund said.

 

“Mister Wizard!” Roland cried. “It’s time to go!”

 

Handler ran a hand down his face and picked up his bag.

 

“Yes,” he said. “We’ll go soon. But breakfast first.”

 

“Of course!” Roland said, laughing as he ran off down the hallway. “But you’re the last one up!”

 

Their backs turned, Handler allowed himself the chance to roll his eyes at them. Precious said nothing, not even to admonish him, and followed her master down the hall.

 

On the ground floor, the boys joined their sister at the table. Claire looked up in concern at their sudden, loud entrance. There were two other empty bowls of porridge next to hers and a half-eaten loaf of bread on the table, which the boys eagerly tore into. Claire ate as delicately and politely as she could manage, doing her best not to get any crumbs on her dress. A portly woman smiled broadly at the children as she brought in more food, including a bowl of porridge for Handler. The children seemed to have an easy time of making people like them, a gift which Handler did not possess but rarely found need for anyway. He mumbled a thank you and sat down at the table.

 

Precious slunk along the floor, her mood as low as her master’s, staying in the shadow beneath his chair where she wouldn’t attract any attention.

 

Handler forced down the bowl of porridge as quickly as he could, which wasn’t particularly fast. His throat wasn’t letting him swallow. When he returned to his manor – or, perhaps, to his new tower, if that was to be the case – he promised himself a proper bowl of porridge, with milk, honey and cinnamon. Though as he finished, he knew it wasn’t just this town’s poor excuse for food that made it hard to eat.

 

Their sister and the wizard done eating, Roland and Edmund grabbed the coats Handler had given them the previous evening before they raced out the door and into the grey morning as quickly as they could. They got to the stable doors and stopped, bickering as they waited for someone bigger than them to open the heavy door. Handler, Precious and Claire followed slowly behind. Roland had gotten quite good at taking the horses over the course of the past two days, for a six year-old. Adults, which mostly ended up being Handler, still had to help him with much of the work. Really, all Roland had going for him was that the horses – particularly Black Steel, who disliked most people and seemed to utterly despise Handler – would listen to him. They would move about the boy, nibbling his clothes and rubbing up against him like puppies. Claire could help him with the harness and reins, but Handler or one of the hostlers would be needed to step in to get the saddle and saddlebags into place. Lester really hadn’t given them the best tack, but a few spells from Handler had fixed the worse of the potential problem. Still, the saddles were too heavy for any of the children and the horses to tall, so the work fell to the wizard.

 

The day they rode into was as grey as Handler’s mood. Not raining, which may have been some form of relief from the boredom, but grey. The children seemed happy enough, but Handler paid them no mind except to make sure they didn’t get into trouble.

 

The clouds ate up Handler’s concept of time. Normally he would have had a watch on hand, but he had left his at home, having decided the journey might be too hard on it. This was the first time he’d regretted doing so.

 

He peered at the sky, trying to judge where the sun was without shadows. On his shoulder, Precious craned her head in the same direction. He didn’t look to her, but he could feel her cheek against his. She seemed as listless as he felt, and even the horse seemed to acknowledge the change in their emotions. Black Steel gave them almost no trouble the whole day. Despite this, a thought was blossoming in Handler’s mind. It grew bigger as they rode on.

 

In the distance, Handler could see where the road they were travelling on met up with a larger one. A train rumbled beyond somewhere out of his view.

 

“Follow me,” he said, pulling Black Steel ahead of Honey.

 

“Where are we going, Mister Wizard?” Edmund asked.

 

Precious, unaware of a change in plans, tilted her whole body so that she was looking at her master.

 

“It’s going to rain,” Handler said, choosing his words carefully. “If we’re caught in a downpour as bad as the one I think is coming, we will be in major trouble. The town up ahead has a train station – we might be able to catch a train headed to the station near the Gate.”

 

The children gasped at the prospect of riding in the train.

 

“Are you sure, Mister Handler?” Claire asked. “I thought you didn’t have the money to take all of us on the train!”

 

“Not from London. But I might have enough to afford us tickets from here. I’m also beginning to worry about the time it’s taking us to find your sister. The fae don’t act quickly by nature, but it’s always best to be hasty about these sorts of things.”

 

Precious’ ear twitched. She had seen through him, but then she must have agreed in some way, as she did not correct him.

 

“What about the horsies?” Roland asked.

 

“We might sell them,” Handler said. “There ought to be somewhere nearby the station that would be them.”

 

“No!” Roland wailed, throwing his arms around Black Steel’s neck.

 

Handler grabbed the back of his coat to make sure he did not fall. The horse snorted.

 

“I don’t wanna leave him!” the boy cried. “An’ he doesn’t wanna be sold off to strange people again!”

 

Handler sighed, not wanting to deal with this.

 

“Come on, Roland,” Claire said. “If we sell them, we’ll be able to get to Big Sis sooner.” She kept her voice strong, but it was clear that she was not completely onboard with the idea of selling the horses either.

 

Roland looked to his brother, still upset. “What do you think?”

 

Edmund frowned, looking very serious. “I think Mister Wizard is right. I dun wanna say goodbye to Black Steel and Honey either, but we gotta do what’s best for Big Sis.”

 

Roland looked miserable.

 

They followed the major road along the outskirts of the town, towards the station at the north end. Handler wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but nonetheless tried to calculate the price of the tickets, and just how much he would have left over.

 

“Are you alright?” Precious whispered.

 

He thought it over. “I’m fine,” he replied. “But I am tired. What I said about rescuing the girl is true, but I want to return home as soon as we can.”

 

“Are you thinking about what that Tower Mistress said?”

 

He hesitated, and she knew he was.

 

“It’s not just that,” he said. “There’s something else that’s been bothering me since we saw her, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it was that bird of hers. It was really quite unusual.”

 

“Handler.” Precious blinked, slowly. “What sort of creature was that woman?”

 

He blinked too, and realised that he had no idea. He had never seen anyone that looked quite like her, nor had he heard of anything matching her description.

 

“You’re right,” he said.

 

“Perhaps if we discover the answer, you’ll feel better.”

 

“Quite possible.” He straightened his spine and shook his head, trying to clear it. “For now, though, we should focus on finding Tessa.”

 

But the question did not disappear from his mind. What _was_ the Tower Mistress? He must be overlooking something. They rode on towards the train station, and Handler thought it over, his mind looping on itself with every step.

*

When they finally got to the station, Handler was nowhere closer to the answer, but had succeeded in giving himself a mild headache. As he had suspected, there was an inn near the station with a large stable, and he approached one of the workers with the offer of his horses. The boy ran to fetch the master of the inn to deal with the wizard’s sudden appearance.

 

The children dismounted. Roland was still having difficulty understanding the need to leave the horses behind, and hugged Black Steel’s head to his chest.

 

“I dun wanna leave you,” he said.

 

There were tears in the boy’s eyes, and the horse seemed to recognize the solemnity of the moment. He left the boy hug him. Honey stepped over, ignoring Claire’s attempt at keeping her still, and she nibbled the shoulder of Roland’s coat.

 

Handler stepped away, not wanting to be crushed between the beasts. He took Precious into his arms, looking out past the train station. He wasn’t thinking of much, but was still annoyed when it was interrupted by a tug at his sleeve.

 

Edmund looked up at him. “Mister Wizard! I have a question.”

 

“What is it?”

 

The boy pointed to the mist-covered hills that loomed in the distance. “What’s that over there?”

 

Handler squinted. It was difficult to see because of the toneless light of the day, but once Edmund pointed it out, there did appear to be something off. There was magic in those hills, there on the edge of England – but he had never seen it look like this. The pearlescent magic shone blue and purple across the mist, just barely within the realms of visibility.

 

“It’s… faery magic,” Handler said, not quite able to believe it himself. “But the Gate is still dozens of miles away.”

 

Precious flicked her tail and said quietly, “I think we might have to rethink this, Handler.”

 

He frowned. This _was_ faery magic, there was no doubt. The reek of the city was too overpowering to tell whether the magic would smell any different. A chill ran down his spine at the same moment as the fur on Precious’ stuck up.

 

“There’s another Gate,” he said.

 

Claire and Roland looked up, having realised that Handler and Edmund were no longer paying attention.

 

“What do you mean, Mister Handler?” Claire asked. “How can there be another Gate to the Faery Realm?”

 

“I don’t know,” Handler replied. “But…” He looked around, across the hills, then saw that Black Steel was looking that way as well. Without Roland to distract him, the gelding looked alert, and his ears were pinned back.

 

“I think you’re right,” Precious said softly to him. In the sudden quiet, all of the children heard her as well.

 

“All right,” Handler said. “I believe you. Children! Get back on the horses.”

 

Confused, Claire and Edmund hastened to get back onto Honey.

 

“Why, Mister Wizard?” Roland asked as Handler lifted him onto Black Steel’s back.

 

“Because I am certain that the person behind this shift in magic is the same person who kidnapped your sister,” he said. He pulled himself onto the horse behind Roland and they set off for the hills.

 

The greyness, Handler found, was now only in the clouds. He cast a spell and the cold dissipated from his bones. They were getting close now – he could feel it.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The day passed painfully slow. They stopped near a stream for the horses to drink and for the humans to eat and refill their water skins. Then they continued onward, stopping once more in a small valley where a waterfall of clear, cold mountain water fed into a pool. Even then, well after noon, the fog had barely shifted, and the mountains were still shrouded in mist.

 

The horses were nervous. Black Steel kept snorting and tossing his head, while Honey kept swishing her tail as though she were being annoyed by flies, even though there were none to be seen. The children, even Roland, didn’t seem to notice.

 

Precious leaned forward from Handler’s shoulder, ears pricked. She sensed something wrong, but there was no magic in the air that Handler could feel. That didn’t mean there wasn’t any, though. His understanding lay best with human and human-like magic, such as that of the fae. But humans and fae weren’t the only creatures with magic, even if both sometimes acted as though they were. He tried to keep that in mind as they continued on through the foothills and into the mountains.

 

The fog thickened until it became difficult to see anything more than an arm’s length in front of the horses. They found a clearing, free of large rocks, crossed by the stream they had been following for some time, and Handler pulled Black Steel to a stop. They dismounted. Roland and Edmund didn’t let go of the horses’ reigns, the beasts’ nervousness catching. Claire busied herself with clearing an area big enough for all of them.

 

“Are you sure this fog is natural?” Precious asked as she peered into it. If even her eyes were having trouble, then perhaps it really _was_ worth wondering about.

 

Handler looked around, seeing nothing but trees and rocks that gave off a peculiar sense of hiding something. Quite dramatic, for being trees and rocks. “It’s probably not. Would you like me to investigate it further?” He raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to tell him the truth.

 

She scrutinise the fog. “No, I should think not,” she said finally. “It’s too dangerous right now.”

 

He nodded. “We’ll stay here, then, and hopefully the fog will be gone in the morning.”

 

The clearing was hard, cold and damp, offering little shelter from the wind or rain should either decide to join them, but it was big enough that a large fire could be made and they’d all be fairly warm around it. And it did look nicer now that Claire had tidied it up. It wasn’t the worse place he and Precious had ever slept, all told.

 

“We’ll set up camp here for the night,” he declared. He opened his questing bag, fetching their bedrolls from it.

 

Edmund let go of Honey to take them. Roland was struggling to remove Honey’s halter until Claire stepped in to help. Black Steel didn’t seem to notice the bit in his mouth as he went after a clump of grass.

 

“You’d think we never feed the creature,” Handler muttered.

 

Roland giggled, and it reverberated around the valley. Handler shushed him.

 

There was no telling what they would attract if they spoke to loudly in an area like this. He just hoped that whatever it was would leave them alone until he got some food and proper sleep.

*

It turned out that Handler’s main challenge to getting to sleep that night wouldn’t be anything hiding in the undergrowth, but the children. In retrospect, he probably should have realised that would happen and have planned accordingly, but he did not. First, Black Steel spooked himself and Honey by stepping on a branch. Handler had had to calm both of them down and rescue the two boys from their midst. Then, Roland managed to put his hand straight into a nest of sleeping rats. Though meeker than their city counterparts, they scampered all over the boy before he ran off. Handler would have thought Roland would have been able to talk the critters away himself, but he instead he clung to his sister, tears welling in his eyes as Precious chased the rats off. A couple of them would have new scars to show for it, though for Roland’s sake she hadn’t harmed any of them too deeply.

 

Handler leaned back against a large rock, sighing heavily. Precious crawled onto his lap, the water collected on her fur soaking through to his leg. He pulled his cloak tighter around them. His eyes were beginning to lose focus, though that may have been because he was staring into the heart of the campfire he had set up, ignoring the shadows dancing around them.

 

He heard a rustle beside them, and felt Precious turn her head as though to investigate, though her vision was blocked by the cloak. He looked up, with better results, and saw Claire standing next to him. He waited for her to explain what it was she wanted, and in the meanwhile she worried the hem of her dress sleeves.

 

“Mister Handler, I have a question,” she said eventually, her voice betraying her uncertainty. Since she usually conducted herself with a surprising amount of dignity and effort, Handler raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I was wondering… you keep acting like my little brother has magic. Roland, I mean, not Edmund. But that’s not true – our mum said Tessa was the only one of us to inherit any magic, and she would know – wouldn’t she? Or – is it that Roland has a little bit of magic, like Tessa does?” She looked up from the ground at that thought, like it was appealing to her.

 

Handler frowned, unsure of what to tell her. A sibling with magic could be a real problem, especially if they were Roland’s age and likely to remain untaught. And with their parents gone and their sister missing, Claire was probably trying to figure out her options and a way to keep her family together for as long as she could. Just a brush of magic meant that Tessa could teach him, or he could even teach himself, but a lot of magic would mean they would have to find a teacher for the boy. That would mean Roland would have to leave his family, and even pay an apprentice’s fee. If Claire thought she could ask him, then Handler would have to refuse. The boy’s skill clearly lay with animals, something wildly beyond anything in Handler’s repertoire. If Roland had only the same level of magic as his eldest sister, it could be dealt with without involving anyone else – but Handler knew that wasn’t the case.

 

“If he were allowed to develop his magic at a proper rate, he could actually prove to be a rather good wizard,” Handler said with a shrug. Claire’s face fell.

 

“Then – can you teach him?” she asked.

 

“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t be the right teacher at all for him, and for magic you really do need the best teacher you can have.” He could feel Precious purring softly in agreement. So for once, she found his logic for denying help sound.

 

Claire had tears in her eyes. “Then what am I supposed to do?” She clenched her fists. “I can’t help him, but if he really needs it, then…”

 

Handler sighed. His head was really beginning to hurt from the lack of sleep. “You’ll figure something out. Perhaps after we rescue your sister, I can ask around some of my more… rurally inclined acquaintances, to see if they are perhaps in need of an apprentice or non-magical aids. Some wizards want such people around them.” Precious’ purring stopped. “There’s also the possibility that Roland’s powers are of the sort that are primarily self-taught, and he won’t need a teacher. So try not to cry. Your sister will be able to help you again soon enough, after all.”

 

Claire was indeed crying, but she wiped away the tear away as soon as she noticed them. “Yes,” she said. “All right. We’ll figure something else out later. After we rescue Tessa.” She turned away and started to leave – and none too soon, Handler thought – but then glanced back, a smile on her face.

 

“Thank you, Mister Handler,” she added. Then she left, crawling into her bedroll after making sure her siblings were asleep.

 

Handler sighed for the third time in five minutes and leaned back again. Precious popped her head out of his cloak.

 

“That was remarkably mature,” she said. “I’m astounded.”

 

He patted her between the ears, his eyes still on the swirling mist above. “If you wish.”

 

“You know that I will remember this.”

 

“Well, I _had_ intended to do as I said I would, so it’s good that you’re there to remind me.” He knew she wouldn’t let him worm his way out of it now. He continued to pet her, and she began to purr once more.

*

It turned out that even after all that, proper rest was long in coming. It took hours for Handler to fall asleep, or so it seemed, but once he did it was deep and undisturbed. Precious lay curled on his chest once more, her purr sending vibrations through his chest as they slept. Then, just as he was about to enter in what was sure to be a lovely dream of comfortable beds and dry socks, he was shaken awake.

 

“Handler – Mister Handler!” It was Claire, shaking his shoulder relentlessly, and she sounded terrified.

 

His eyes snapped open and he pulled himself to his feet. Precious tumbled off with a hiss, awake almost instantly, her fur flaring up.

 

“What’s wrong?” he said. He tried to summon fire to his hand, failed, and shook his head clear before trying again. This time the flames lit up the clearing, both from his hand and the fire that leapt back to life. He immediately noticed that it was far emptier than it should be. The horses were still sleeping – or else ignoring them – and nothing much looked out of place, except…

 

Claire looked like she was halfway into hysterics and Handler put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her down.

 

“Calm down and talk to me,” he said. “What happened?”

 

“Roland and Edmund – they – they’re gone!” Claire cried, wrapping her arms around his waist and sobbing.

 

“I can see that,” Handler said, doing his best to calm her. “Did you seem them disappear?”

 

She tried to calm her breathing, and pulled away from him. “N- no, I didn’t. All I remember is sort of waking up and hearing hooves and voices that sounded – that sounded very odd. I thought that it was just in my head or a local shepherd or something, but…” Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, not again…”

 

She looked helplessly around the clearing. Precious stepped up, sniffing at the small patched coats the boys had been using for blankets. She looked up, ears pricked, eyes scanning the fog. Handler knew he had to make a decision. He turned to Claire.

 

“You stay with the horses, and don’t move at all. The fire will stay lit, don’t worry. I won’t be too long,” he said.

 

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak.

 

“Save your brothers,” Handler said. “Precious, lead the way.”

 

“No,” Claire said.

 

“Excuse me?” He looked over at her.

 

She wiped her eyes. “I’m coming with you,” she said. “I might not be able to do anything, but I have to try. They’re my brothers. I have to help them as much as I can.”

 

There was that determined set of the chin again. She wasn’t going to let Handler do this on his own. It was like suddenly having two familiars, only he hadn’t asked for this one.

 

“I need you to stay with the horses,” Handler tried.

 

Claire pursed her lips. “You know they’re going to stay here,” she said. “Roland asked them too, after all.”

 

Handler glanced over at Black Steel, who was watching them. “Is that true?” he asked.

 

He didn’t know what answer he was expecting, but a nod was not it. He accepted it anyway.

 

“Fine, then. Stick close to me.”

 

The stench of livestock and damp on the far side of the camp was noticeable even to Handler. His familiar lashed her tail and set off, doing her best to track whoever or whatever it was they were following through the scrub. He cast a spell over the fire so it would burn hot and bright without needing to be refuelled, keeping the horses warm and safe and making sure they’d be able to find the clearing again. Then, without another word, the three of them disappeared together into the fog.

 

Silence pressed down on the three of them as they walked, as heavy as the fog and almost as impenetrable. It didn’t bode well for what they would find beyond it. Handler pulled his own cloak in tighter while Precious continued forward, paying no heed to the cold seeping into her paws. Claire said nothing, but she looked like she was trying to not show how cold she was. He didn’t know what light might attract in these mountains, but summoned orange flames into his hands anyway. It didn’t reach as far as he would have liked, but it did warm him enough to stop his teeth from chattering, and Claire relaxed now that she could see her own feet.

 

“How much further?” Claire asked. She kept her voice low, apprehensive about what the answer may be.

 

“Precious?” Handler said.

 

Precious huffed. “I am not a scent hound.” She took a couple of delicate sniffs in the air and said, “I can’t tell. Perhaps it would be best if you tried a locating spell. You’re familiar enough with those boys to find them.”

 

“That might be best,” Handler sighed, and extinguished the flame spell.

 

He could faintly see Claire’s expression and he didn’t want to cause her undue worry, but he needed both hands for this. He wasn’t very good at locating spells and so spoke the words aloud, bringing to mind a mental image of Edmund and Roland as clearly as he could. A sharp blue light appeared in his cupped hands and as it intensified he opened his hands and put his right one flat. The light narrowed to a needle that spun around on his palm. Handler concentrated harder until he could practically visualise every hair on their heads, and the needle settled, pointing north-west.

 

“Got it,” he said. The cold air made it hard to breathe.

 

“Let’s go, then,” Claire said.

 

Precious leapt down the path, as sure-footed and quick as any mountain cat. Claire followed, moving like not even a dragon could stop her. Handler did his best to keep up with them, though he was pretty sure he was only as graceful as Precious in his mind.

 

It felt like they had been walking for hours. Handler’s legs, though long and used to long journeys due to the unhelpful amount of times he found himself unable to teleport while on a quest, began to protest the rough terrain. They walked down the small paths and rocky patches in silence but for the sound of Handler and Claire’s footsteps. Precious didn’t make a noise as she stepped through the undergrowth, shaking her pelt free of the clinging water every so often.

 

The blue needle brightened, signalling that they were getting closer. Handler looked up just as Claire came to a sudden halt and he nearly crashed into her, barely keeping his footing on the fog-drenched stone.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as quietly as he could.

 

Claire looked over to Precious, who pointed a paw in the direction they had been walking. She indicated a spot on the mountain above them. In the midst of the fog there was a single flickering light. It looked like a large bonfire.

 

Whoever had taken the boys, they must have been just up ahead. Handler allowed himself a small smile. This wouldn’t be that much trouble at all.

 

Claire hung back as she waited for him. When he started walking again, Precious dashed ahead, dark against dark. The path became more difficult as they headed up, rockier and with more gaps and even a sheer cliff in the way. It smelled wet, muddy, and sheep-like. Maybe it really had been a shepherd that had taken them. All around, it was miserable for the wizard, though Claire and Precious seemed to find it much easier.

 

“Why must everything always be so difficult?” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t even wearing a dress, it shouldn’t have been this hard. He shoved himself forward and with one last heave was over the top of the cliff. He was laying on his belly across a rock, trying to get his breath back and feeling very much out of shape.

 

“To keep people like you away,” Precious said. She twitched her tail against his nose. “Now come along. It isn’t far now, and staying here will only cause you to complain about your knees.”

 

“Please, Mister Handler…”

 

Claire’s voice snapped him to his feet. “All right,” Handler muttered, brushing off his pants. “Precious, lead the way.”

 

Ten more minutes passed as they made their way along the trail to that distant bonfire. The path was narrow but worn, with tufts of wool clinging to the scraggly plant life. Voices could now be heard, raised in what sounded like some sort of revelry. Precious stopped on the stones ahead of them as she tried to make out their words and behind her Handler and Claire slowed down. It must have been the ones who kidnapped Roland and Edmund. The voices were too far away for him to understand the words, but if Handler had been forced to describe what he was hearing, he would have said that it sounded like the voices of people who had learned to talk by listening to sheep.

 

“Stay behind me,” he told Claire.

 

He approached the flickering light with caution, keeping himself in front of Precious and Claire. He wouldn’t summon his own fire until absolutely necessary, in case it would give them away, but kept the magic close at hand. Precious came forward to stand by his feet and they share a look. On a silent count of three, they raced forward.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Handler burst out of the fog, into a clearing, and immediately almost tripped over a sheep. He stumbled to a stop with Precious right behind him and Claire walked into his back. She started to apologise, then stopped.

 

There had to be dozens of them in that large clearing, of all manner of shapes and sizes and colours. They had all turned to stare at the three of them. Some of the sheep stood or lay about the sides of the clearing, while others seemed to have stopped midway through some sort of bizarre dance around the central fire. A pot had been hung over the flames, producing a distinct odour of vegetable stew. There was not a single human in sight, because _of course_ the children had managed to get themselves kidnapped by animals.

 

The sheep’s eyes were filled with fear and yet still somehow the blank gaze of farm animals. Handler had never noticed just how odd a sheep’s eyes were before, and now he never wanted to see them ever again.

 

Claire was standing stock still, staring blankly back like she’d never seen anything of the sort. To be fair, she probably hadn’t.

 

He coughed, breaking the silence. “Well then,” he said to no one in particular. “That was unexpected. Would any of you sheep happen to have seen two small boys? They seemed to have disappeared.”

 

Diplomacy was probably the best choice in this situation. Probably.

 

The sheep continued to stare at them with blank eyes. Handler was just about to give up on the whole venture and began to think about the best way to clear away the sheep when a ripple passed through the herd. They parted, leaving a wide path between the wizard and a cave on the far side that had previously been obscured by woolly bodies. Claire leaned forward to peer at them. Handler raised an eyebrow. If they expected him to join in, he was going to set them all on fire. But no. Unfortunately they would have no late night mutton supper, for between those rows of sheep walked down yet another sheep. This one was a large ram, heavy with wool and horns that even Handler would have to admit were rather impressive. He was also wearing, rather inexplicably, an eye-patch over one eye.

 

“Greetings, mortals,” the sheep said in a thick Welsh accent. The tone in his voice suggested he thought himself the superior one here.

 

The wizard said nothing, expecting the sheep to go on the sort of long-winded, pretentious ramble that tone usually suggested. Instead there was only silence. As it grew, the other sheep began to turn their heads towards Handler and Claire. It was, admittedly, one of the strangest thirty seconds of Handler’s life.

 

“Er, hello?” Handler said. He had no idea where to go from there. He wasn’t even sure why there were sheep talking to him, but it was probably in his best interest to not question it just now.

 

“Excuse us,” Claire tried. “We were… Uhm, we were looking for…” She trailed off as she pulled away from a sheep that started to nibble her sleeve. It looked up at her like it was personally offended.

 

Precious backed away from a sheep that tried to approach her, the blank eyes taking on an inquisitive sheen. She returned to her master’s side and he picked her up automatically, entirely unsure of what to do next.

 

The ram gave a long, slow blink. “Who are you to disturb us, the Great Bandit Sheep of Wales, on this night of holy feasting?”

 

“Er.” Handler found himself blinking rapidly at the ram’s words. “What? Us? We were…” He coughed and straightened himself. “We’re looking for two children who have wandered off. Two young boys, one blond, one brunet? Dressed like they wandered out of the wrong decade? About this high?” He made a gesture that was only vaguely the right height for Edmund.

 

“We think they disappeared around here,” Claire offered.

 

A low growl rose from the herd of assembled sheep. Up until that point, Handler hadn’t thought sheep _could_ growl. He still wasn’t quite believing it, despite it was happening right in front of him.

 

The ram narrowed his one visible eye at the wizard. “What do you want with our sacrifices?”

 

Claire clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

 

Handler probably should have seen that coming. Ignoring any vague sense of panic he might be feeling, he reminded himself that if he so chose, he could probably destroy the whole mountain in three spells. Sheep wouldn’t exactly be a challenge, even if they did have affinity for sacrificing children.

 

“Sacrifices?” Handler asked airily. “What on earth are you planning to sacrifice them to?”

 

The ram tossed his head in a most elegant manner with a ‘hrrrumph,’ the ties of his eye-patch fluttered in the wind for a moment. For a couple of minutes he said nothing. Precious’ ears twitched. She was losing patience with these feral wool clouds, and would show it very soon. Claire’s face reddened with worry and rage, and he wondered which of the two would snap first.

 

The ram started speaking again, sounding as though he had suddenly picked up in the middle of a speech that only he could hear. “… And that is why we cannot offer the children back.”

 

This was getting him nowhere, he decided. Time for a different tactic. “What’s your name? I’m assuming that you have one – and that you’re the leader here.”

 

The ram practically preened. “Indeed I am. My name is Carrot the Great, third of that name and sixteenth leader of the bandit sheep of the mountains of Wales.”

 

Handler disguised his laughter as a sudden racking cough. Claire glared at him, finding none of this funny. The ram – _Carrot_ , what a name – turned to stare blankly at him and the wizard quickly cut himself off.

 

“Right,” Handler said, recovering. “Ahem. So, er, Carrot the Great –“

 

“That is _Lord_ Carrot the Great to you,” the ram snapped.

 

Handler blinked, mostly to calm himself down once again. He would end up breaking a rib if he kept laughing every time something ridiculous occurred. It was the lack of sleep he had endured over this trip, he was sure.

 

“Ah, yes, well.” The wizard cleared his throat. “Lord Carrot, if you wouldn’t mind. In case you haven’t noticed, as I don’t quite understand the relationship between bandit sheep and magic, I am quite the powerful wizard. If you do not hand over the two human boys, I will not hesitate to use my magic against you.” He summoned a ball of flame for emphasis.

 

The pocket of sheep nearest the flames started to panic, baaing loudly as they dashed about and kicked up stones in their haste to retreat. Carrot’s ears pulled back and he took a step or two away from the wizard, but he didn’t fall back into the ranks of sheep as Handler had hoped he would. Other sheep filed out from the caves and the fog, drawn by the noise, until there was a loud, writhing mass of bodies spread out in front of him.

 

“Big Sis! Mister Wizard!” a voice called. Handler looked up to see Edmund emerging from the cave on the back of a large sheep, waving at him. “You came to save us!”

 

“I said Mister Wizard would come!” Roland said, coming up behind his brother. He jumped off the sheep he had been riding and raced through the crowd, who moved out of his way automatically, his brother just behind. He stopped next to the wizard, face red and smiling. “Hi Big Sis! We’re having a lot of fun with our sheep friends. Is Sis okay?”

 

She’d gone white again, and then raced forward to hug them.

 

Sheep instantly blocked her way.

 

“Not so fast!” Carrot baaed.

 

Roland let out a cry and Handler turned to see that the sheep had grasped the boy’s arm in his maw.

 

“Ye’r n’leffin’ wi’f ma s’criffiffes,” the ram mumbled, which Handler took to mean that he wasn’t going to let the boys leave so easily. It figured.

 

“Let go of him,” Claire snapped. “Return them to me – now!”

 

Carrot seemed to hesitate at that.

 

“You’re hurting me, Mister Sheep!” Roland cried. “I thought we were friends!” There were tears in his eyes.

 

“Please, Mister Sheep,” Edmund said. “We want to be with our sister.”

 

Handler ran his hand down his face and sighed. He could just kill all of the sheep and be done with it. Even Precious wouldn’t deny him that. She was as tired as he was, leaning heavily against his foot and impatient to leave.

 

“Wait a minute,” Handler said.

 

The sheep and children all looked up at him.

 

“If you wanted these boys as a sacrifice, is there something more suitable I could offer in their place?” he suggested. “I doubt whoever you’re sacrificing them to would be all that pleased with humans as an offering, to be honest.” Unless it was a dragon. If it was a dragon, he’d rather just walk away.

 

The surrounding sheep all looked at their leader, who slowly let go of Roland’s arm. The boy rubbed the red marks left by the ram’s teeth.

 

“Well… There is one thing, maybe,” Carrot said.

 

“Tell us,” Claire demanded. “I’ll find it.”

 

“Let’s hear it,” Handler said. Doing the right – and non-violent – thing sounded as though it was about to take a lot of time. He didn’t want to waste more than necessary.

 

Carrot looked up towards the top of the mountain. “There’s an ancient tale among we bandit sheep. The tale says that somewhere at the peak of the mountain three mountains over, there is a special place where an old hermit grows golden onions. They are very magical, and if you could get us even one, then we will let the boys go.” He sounded thoughtful as he said this – for a bandit sheep, at least.

 

“Oh, yes!” Edmund said. “Mister Carrot was telling us about the golden onions just before you arrived!”

 

Handler looked out in the direction the sheep had indicated, barely able to see anything. “Can you get rid of the fog?” he asked. “I know you’re the ones commanding it.” Or at least, he was fairly sure they were. It wouldn’t do to be laughed at by sheep.

 

His educated guess was rewarded by the sheep stirring from their fear.

 

“We can’t turn off the sacred fog spells!” one bleated.

 

“We would die!” said another dramatically.

 

“We’d be eaten by wolves!” a third added.

 

“We’d be eaten by wolves and dragons and mean people with knives!”

 

“We’ll be eaten if we turn off the sacred fog spells!”

 

That conclusion reached, the sheep turned to look at him. Handler groaned.

 

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “There aren’t any wolves here.”

 

The sheep didn’t look convinced. Fortunately, he didn’t have to convince all of them of anything – just their leader.

 

“Look,” he said to Carrot. “If you remove the fog, I’ll be able to fetch those golden onions of yours faster.”

 

He had a dizzying moment where he realised the ridiculousness of the situation, but it faded quickly.

 

“Please?” Roland asked Carrot, looking hopeful. “I wanna go back to my sister and not be sacrificed.”

 

Edmund nodded in agreement.

 

Carrot, seeing that he was outnumbered by the humans, turned to one of the cowering sheep and baaed, “Stop the fog!”

 

The cry went up, “Stop the fog! Stop the fog!”

 

Something in the magic shifted, and the mountains around them came into view. The night was clear once the fog was gone and even though it was moonless and dark, it was better than being trapped in grey. The stars were strange colours, purples and blues and pinks, warped by whatever shift in the magic of the area that had lead them here in the first place. Handler looked back at the sheep, now able to see the carvings in stone that had created the fog. They must have been created by humans and taken over by the sheep – there was no way any mundane animal could have created those. But how they were able to use it was beyond him. Claire was still looking at the mountains.

 

“That third one?” she asked. “The golden onions are there, right?”

 

Carrot baaed, which Handler took to mean yes.

 

Roland looked up at Handler and his sister with wide eyes touched with tears. “You’ll be back for us, won’t you?”

 

“Promise you will?” Edmund added, like they were part of a very melodramatic play.

 

Handler resisted rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes. And the sooner I can leave, the sooner I will be able to return.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys, who shrank back.

 

“Of course we’ll be back,” Claire said, much more comforting than Handler. She looked like she was going to wring someone’s neck very soon.

 

Precious crouched down, fur fluffed against the cold, and leapt into his hands, tired of walking. So was Handler, in fact. He gave her a pat, his hand coming away covered in damp hairs, and put her on his shoulder. This night could not be over quick enough.

 

Carrot said, “Go with my blessing.”

 

Handler raised an eyebrow, but turned back to the spell he was thinking of. Neither he nor Precious had any particular desire to walk the three mountains, and he was sure Claire felt the same way. Fortunately Handler was tired enough of this situation to lose all inhibition about using magic. And he couldn’t have done this with all three children – but just one was manageable. It might even be manageable twice. He glanced up to the mountain, picking a place he could see, and grabbed the back of Claire’s dress as he opened a rip in space. Magic flowed through Precious and into him, widening the rip until it was big enough for him to step through, dragging Claire with him. He stepped into the rip and the three of them were in the middle of an empty mountain clearing.

 

“Oh,” Claire said softly. She was clearly disoriented, but she was taking the teleportation spell better than most. She put a hand on her forehead like she had a headache, but was still on her feet.

 

“Should you have used so much magic?” Precious asked. The fur along her spine stuck up from the power of the spell. Of course that would be her first question. “An unguarded teleportation spell is…”

 

“Rather dangerous?” Handler finished for her. “It’ll be fine. It worked, after all. Plus, it’s just onions and a hermit.”

 

Precious shrugged and leapt to the ground, curious now. Handler looked around, trying to find the best way to locate the onions in question. He hoped the thing he was looking for actually existed. It wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility that the golden onions were just some myth the sheep had dreamt up.

 

“It shouldn’t take us long, I hope,” Claire said. “Mister Handler – do you know how we will find this hermit? And what will we do when we get there? Will he give us the onions for the sheep, do you think?”

 

“Oh, I doubt it,” he replied. “But let’s see what we can find while we’re here.”

 

He picked a random direction and started walking, Precious just behind him. Claire followed a bit more slowly, and Handler kept an ear out in case she was carried off by a roc or something when he wasn’t paying attention.

 

Precious was the one to find what they were looking for. A small path, barely visible, had been carved into the side of the mountain. It seemed likely, and so they followed. It was dark and quiet, save for the light in Handler’s hand and the sound of their footsteps. It almost felt like something was nearby, watching them – something that wasn’t sheep. He was almost sure it was just his imagination, and ignored it.

 

“It’s creepy up here,” Claire whispered. “I don’t think we’re alone.”

 

“No,” Handler agreed. “It may be the hermit himself. At least, let’s hope that’s the case.”

 

Precious said nothing, but he could hear her purr. Handler and Claire stayed silent as they continued to climb, sometimes following a path that was barely visible, sometimes having to scurry up rock walls. Handler banged his knees several times. It was rather painful, all things considered.

  
Just as he was wondering whether they were even on the right track, they turned a corner to find a portion of the mountain that had been shorn away to make room for a small clearing.

 

There was a small wooden hut tucked away in one corner, half rotten where it stood, the roof blooming with moss. The patch of garden laid out in front of it seemed to be one third onion, one third weed, and one third rock. It might have been the lack of sunlight, but it also appeared to have a distinct grey sheen to it. There didn’t seem to be a soul about, not even a mouse.

 

“Is this it?” Claire asked.

 

Handler frowned as he looked over the garden. “They certainly do look like onions. Go and pick a couple for the sheep. I’ll keep watch.”

 

The place looked empty and there wasn’t a sound, but he still felt those watching eyes. He tried to shake it off – not even a hermit would want to live in a rotting hut like the one there – but it remained. He kept his familiar and his battle spells close as Claire knelt down in the dirt.

 

The dirt looked hard despite the damp and Claire scratched out enough to see the bulb. There was a glint from beneath her fingers, and she wrapped her hand around the stalks and pulled. She stumbled back when the earth finally let go of the onion, and she held it up for Handler to see. In spite of the very living, if not very green stalks, the bulbs were indeed made of what appeared to be solid gold. He wondered if they were edible.

 

“Good,” Handler said.

 

“Do you think that only one will be enough?” Claire kept her voice to a whisper.

 

“It should be. I can take it”

 

She reached to pass it to him.

 

Precious leapt up, fangs bared and fur raised but not making a sound. Both Handler and Claire turned to look at her.

 

“What’s wrong?” Claire whispered.

 

Handler dimmed the light in his hand, and prepared his magic for an attack spell. Claire stepped back to hide behind him. He let her.

 

A shiver ran through the clearing, followed by a wave of frost that didn’t touch the onions. Magic. It felt rather like magic that hadn’t been near another person in quite some time, smelling like sawdust. The hermit knew they were there, and he wasn’t happy about it. Slowly, Handler stood up, the onion secure in his pocket and magic at the ready.

 

The hermit walked out of the little hut, eyes wide in the dark and expression slightly mad. He had long hair and beard that swayed gently in the wind, scattering dirt. His robes might have been white at some point before turning into vaguely greyed rags. His magic, like that of many hermits, grew wild and unrestrained around him, white and blunt.

 

He also apparently wasn’t the most well-mannered hermit, nor did he spend very much time on small talk. He took one look at the wizard, his familiar, the girl, and the disturbed garden, and leapt at Handler.

 

Claire screamed and Handler stumbled back as he blocked the old man’s punches. For a wrinkled old man who looked like he was made of sticks, he was pretty strong. Handler tripped, landing on his back and smacking his head into the ground. Stones stabbed into him. He kicked at the hermit, and managed to dislodge him, sending him stumbling back.

 

Handler’s back hurt and his muscles were already screaming in protest, and he was barely able to focus properly. He forced himself to his feet as Precious leapt at the hermit, trying to slash at his face and ears. The hermit pushed her away, apparently not feeling the scratches she opened in his skin, even as blood seeped from them. She landed on her feet and the raced after his ankles with a yowl.

 

Handler stepped back. He summoned fire but his hands came up empty. His eyes flew open as he tried again, trying to focus his attention as he clicked his fingers and repeated the spell out loud.

 

Whatever was interfering with his magic was having none of it.

 

The hermit kicked and Precious screamed as she was sent flying. She landed in the bushes several feet away. The hermit walked towards her, picking up a rock as big as his fist as he went.

 

Handler gave up on the spell and raced towards them, grabbing at the hermit’s shoulders and pulling him away from Precious. The hermit shook him off and he stumbled to the ground. Barely thrown off balance, the hermit took a step back from Handler and adjusted his grip on the rock.

 

Handler scrambled to summon his flames. The hermit stepped closer. There was a murderous glint in his eyes and he was still holding that rock in his hand. The hermit didn’t even need to use magic to keep him at bay, and Handler screamed curses in his head, damning himself for that.

 

Handler stepped backwards, trying to keep enough distance between him and the hermit. Precious was pulling herself up, apparently all right, but he wanted to keep the old man’s attention off of her entirely.

 

He bumped against stone and he realised he had retreated as far as he could.

 

His back against the cliff, the hermit closing in and Precious unable to do anything, Handler dragged as much of his magic forward as possible, into his hand, into a single spell.

 

The hermit collapsed. Claire stood over his crumpled body, the golden onion tumbling from her hand. Handler caught a glimpse of a brush of blood against the bulb as it rolled across the clearing. She was looking down at the hermit.

 

“Is he going to be all right?” she asked. “I just – he was attacking you and…”

 

“It’ll be fine,” Handler said. He stepped over the hermit to get back to Precious.

 

His familiar dragged herself into his arms, shivering. He ran a hand gently across her head, trying to reassure her.

 

Claire shook herself and went off to find the onion she’d dropped. She slid down a short cliff and dropped out of sight.

 

“Don’t go too far,” Handler called after her footsteps. “We can always dig out another one.”

 

There was a pause where he couldn’t even hear move. Then, her voice came, hesitant and wavering.

 

“Mister Handler?” she called. “I think you need to see this.”

 

Handler frowned. He carried Precious over to the cliff and found a faint path still visible there. He slid down it with her still in his hand. He expected the ground below to be dark. It wasn’t.

 

Claire was waiting just up ahead, the onion in her hands, and she turned back to the mountain pool just ahead of her. Handler summoned a small, bright fire, and this time it worked. The simpler the spell, the better, it seemed, though he was still unable to believe what he was seeing.

 

The water in the pool was dark purple, and not just with the night. Magic glowed around it, and the scent of flowers grew heavier and sicklier.

 

“It’s like what happened when Tessa was taken,” Claire whispered. “It looked just like that.”

 

“I believe you,” Handler whispered back. “That’s a portal to the Faery Realm. It’s what’s been causing the disturbances in the area. The hermit was probably guarding it as well – and those onions could very well have been brought over from there. Portals sometimes appear naturally, but this one…”

 

“This one was made on purpose,” Precious said. “And they wanted it to be kept as secret as possible.”

 

All three of them looked at each other.

 


End file.
